The Bond of Simple Attraction
by CSI Clue
Summary: Fast forward Howard Stark to 1962, and a chance meeting with a young chemist . . .
1. Chapter 1

May, 1962

He was looking forward to getting drunk.

He figured he deserved it; the last few months had been one long grind. Between trying to de-escalate what looked like a serious problem building in Southeast Asia and the constant shit storm from Congress about everything from weapons contracts to research rights, Howard Stark was ready to take the night off from all the responsibilities of CEO-hood and give the papers something to write about. Stark Industries was doing fine but the ongoing frustrations with R & D were making him ready to tear his hair out, Fury was being a royal pain in the ass and if he didn't let off some steam soon, Howard felt he might end up seriously hurting someone.

Which was why he was here this evening at the Mayflower banqueting room in his summer tux.

Howard looked around the cocktail party, taking in the crowd with a practiced eye. Old Money was easy to spot; they tended to congregate near the bar to rub elbows with each other. Even from this distance he would see the scions of society carefully making sure that they were within view but not accessible.

Around the edges were the New Money people, awkward but persistent, circling and shaking hands, making the effort to act as if they'd always been there. They might have, Howard thought, although he didn't care much. Neither Old or New Money interested him.

Money wasn't his motivation. It was nice to have of course, and useful in getting along in life, but making it for the sake of making it had never been his raison d'être.

Howard looked towards the middle of the room, to the mingling crowd there and smirked to himself; this was the far more interesting element of the party. Here he spotted the Intellectuals, the Salesmen, the Government people and the Scientists, all sizing each other up and making connections in that casual way that had probably begun in the Stone Age with everyone around the fire pits. Chemists talked to special agents; geniuses talked to contractors; lobbyists talked to _everybody_.

This was also the group with the prettiest women, however, and Howard felt another urge stirring within him. It had been nearly a year and a half since breaking it off with Loni; she was better off with Stane anyway. No hard feelings on that count.

"Excuse me, but do you have a handkerchief?" a soft contralto at his left shoulder asked.

Howard glanced to the speaker and blinked. The girl there had a hand over her nose, but he could see the trickle of blood under the shield of her fingers, sliding down towards the pink of her lipstick.

He fished in a pocket even as he turned to face her. "Yes."

She was a Miss, that much was clear from her youth and bare left ring finger. Unlike the forest of bouffants and beehives the other women sported, this brunette had her hair down and in a simple side part, looking like Veronica Lake, or a young Katherine Hepburn.

It was a damned _good_ look on her too, Howard noted. Her gray cocktail dress was modestly cut but showed off a fine figure; whoever she was, she had class.

"Thank you," she murmured, using his monogrammed linen to staunch her nose. "If you've got a business card I'll make sure to send you another one."

A low voice, with a hint of accent in it that he couldn't quite place. "That won't be necessary, Miss-?"

She replied something, but all he caught was her first name—Maria—and then one of the caterers came blundering through, moving gracelessly between them for a moment and blocking out the rest of her words. Howard plucked two glasses of champagne from the man's tray as he passed and handed one to the girl with a smile.

"Thanks," she replied huskily and pulled the handkerchief away long enough to take a deep sip. Howard noted that her nose was red but pert. She gave a sigh and dabbed again. "As I was saying, I'll make up the handkerchief to you as soon as I can."

Howard sensed this was going to be a point of honor with her so he turned the conversation away from it in amusement. "So what happened?"

Maria arched an eyebrow at him. Howard noted how lush her lips looked in the light of the chandeliers. "A colleague and I had a slight disagreement in the powder room," she sighed, "and given her seniority and general demeanor, I'm probably going to be clearing out my desk on Monday. Still, I've got two days before that happens, and this party tonight, so what the hell."

"Let me get this straight," Howard snickered. "You slugged someone before stepping out here? I'm intrigued."

And he was; Howard appreciated spirited women, and the girl's attitude interested him. Maria looked down for a moment, caught in a fleeting second of embarrassment before looking up again, her dark eyes bright. "She swung _first_, Mr. Handkerchief; I've got witnesses to that. I was going to quit anyway."

"I'm sure this clinches it," he agreed, draining his glass. "What do you do?"

He was sure Maria Whoever was part of some typing pool or secretarial set in one of the government offices here in DC. Bright young things like this girl tended to flock to parties like this one in hopes of snaring someone to help them up the social and matrimonial ladders.

"Not enough," she told him quietly. "I'm stuck in an isolated system right now."

The comment struck a chord, and he looked more closely at her.

"Not true," Howard replied. "You're interacting with me. And I could get you making exchanges all night." It was a test; a chance to see if her words were coincidental or if she actually knew what she was talking about.

Maria smiled. "That would mean consequences, Mr. Handkerchief. Are you prepared to keep me supplied with an uninterrupted flow of energy all night?"

Howard suppressed an urge to laugh. Instead, he smiled back at her. "Toots, I'm absolutely radiant, trust me. We can start with something more to drink, and the name's Howard."

"Nice to meet someone who can talk thermodynamics, Howard," she replied. "I'll take a Manhattan, if it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all," he assured her and turned for the bar. It took a while to put the orders in through the crowd, but once they were done Howard carried them back, pleased to see that Maria was still there alongside a potted palm just inside the doorway. He handed her the cocktail with a little dip of his head.

"Thanks." She sipped it carefully then nodded with approval. "Good."

"A sure cure for a bloody nose," Howard agreed. "So . . . you know thermodynamics."

"Yep," Maria nodded. "And it isn't doing me a damned bit of good. What do _you_ do?"

"A little of this, a little of that," Howard replied easily. It was true, in a casual sort of way.

Maria shot him a quelling look. "I should have known. You work for the feds, right? FBI? CIA?"

"No," he assured her. That was true too; his connections went higher than that. "I'm in business for myself, actually, but I appreciate them as good customers."

Before either of them could say anything more, a ripple went through the crowd and people began craning to look towards the far end of the room where the musicians were warming up. Howard felt the vibe of anticipation and polished off his Manhattan before asking her, "Care to dance?"

"I've just had two drinks in less than an hour, but I'm still reasonably coordinated," Maria nodded. "I'd love to."

It took only a few minutes to lead her out to the floor amid the forty or so other couples congregating there. Howard found them a nice spot just to the left of the band, not quite in the shadows but close. He waited as she stepped into his arms, and when Maria did so, he felt a frisson of desire flare through his stomach.

She was small, and warm. He didn't know what her perfume was, but it mingled nicely with the scent of the whisky on her breath. Howard moved on automatic, grateful that he was capable of managing a simple foxtrot without too much trouble. The soft, sentimental rumble of _Stardust_ kept them both moving, and Howard closed his eyes, letting the pleasure sink deep into his tired demeanor.

Damn, this felt right and good, this slow sway in the dark. The warmth and weight of someone in his arms seemed to melt his tension like wax.

"I like this," Maria told him in that husky voice of hers. "A lot."

"Me too," he agreed. They danced without speaking again through the rest of the song, and when it ended, he held her a moment longer, hoping the next tune would be as slow and sweet.

"Howard! I didn't know you were showing up tonight!" a voice bellowed from a few feet away.

Howard unsuccessfully fought a wince and glanced over Maria's shoulder at the beefy face of George Roberts. The other man was dancing with a woman that even in this dim light was clearly not Mrs. Roberts, not that it mattered.

"George," Howard managed, and tried to turn away from the intruder, but the band was slow in choosing another number. George began to push his way over, giving Maria a quick leer before focusing again on Howard.

"I want to talk to you about the Meyers deal, but you're harder to get a hold of than a nun's ass. What are your people doing, cutting in on my suppliers?" he called.

"Can't it wait until Monday?" Howard felt Maria begin pull away from him; he bent forward, whispering desperately to her, "I'll get rid of him."

"I don't think you will," she replied in a sad murmur, "and I should get going. Thanks for . . . well, everything, Howard. Card?"

Absently Howard fished one out of his inside pocket. "I _do_ want to see you again, Miss Maria Isolated System."

By now George had nearly reached them. Howard gazed down at the woman in his arms just as she tipped her face up and ever so lightly brushed her lips against the corner of his mustache.

Warm. Soft. Memorable.

"I might like that," she assured him with a last smile and gracefully slipped away. He let his gaze follow her until Roberts snorted, breaking into his reverie.

"Hot little number there, but I'm sure you of all people can find another. Now about my suppliers, Stark—I'm not about to let you cut in on my territory . . ."

The rest of the night was a wash, and Howard only dimly remembered the cabbie helping him up the steps of the mansion at about three in the morning. Both Trevor and Mrs. Cabot were there to put him to bed, the latter clucking over him and promising to have the Tabasco and ginger ale on his nightstand by noon.

-oo00oo-

Maria checked her purse before stepping out from the brownstone, making sure she had enough to pay the cab fair and then some. The morning promised to be frosty as hell, and she didn't want to waste any time if she could help it.

By the time she made it to the elevators, Angie was there, looking slightly scared. The two women stepped into the car, not speaking until the doors slid shut and the car began to descend. "She's here already," Angie blurted. "Made a beeline to Kandt's office; what happened?"

"She grabbed my butt," Maria grumbled. "When I was powdering my nose, Angie—what was I supposed to do?"

The other girl gave a commiserating sigh. "You were supposed to do what the rest of us do, Carbonell; smile and scoot away and keep your mouth shut. Sweet Jesus, you know you're probably going to get—"

"I know," Maria sighed. "But I'll manage. I've got a couple of prospects lined up already, and Kandt will give me a good reference."

"Yeah," Angie agreed reluctantly. "He likes you. Shit, she is gonna be on a tear today though. I'm not looking forward to it."

The elevator opened and a wave of cool air-conditioning hit both of them. Maria shot her companion a reassuring smile. "I'll give you a call and let you know how it goes. And tell Goldie so she doesn't worry."

"Good luck," Angie murmured wryly, and they stepped out into a sterile lobby. Angie turned right, towards the glass fronted office door while Maria squared her shoulders and turned left, to the labs.

Doctor Kandt was in his office, guiltily tamping his pipe; when he saw who it was coming in the door he relaxed. "Maria. I suppose Bettina spoke to you?"

"No sir. The last time I saw Miss Frye was Friday, at the party," Maria admitted softly. After a pause, she asked, "Am I terminated?"

Doctor Kandt gave a weary sigh. "Maria . . . I don't_ want_ to let you go. This lab needs someone like you. You do excellent work, your notes are thorough and accurate, and you get along with everyone-"

"—Everyone but Miss Frye," Maria murmured. "Sir?"

He gave a reluctant nod. "She's threatened to file assault charges against you otherwise. I'm so sorry, Maria, but in a delicate situation like this, it's more expedient for the lab to let you go. We'll call it a termination for personal reasons, and I'll be more than happy to provide you with a letter of reference."

Maria said nothing as she chewed the inside of her cheek. Kandt toyed with his unlit pipe and added, "I'm sorry my dear, but Bettina Frye has seniority and leverage around here that even _I_ can't match. God knows she's a cantankerous old dyke, but she's got connections and a lot of people owe her favors."

It didn't take long to clear out her things. Hubert the custodian brought her a few boxes from the basement, and Maria packed up her personal items swiftly, not glancing over at the supervisor's office where Bettina Frye sat chatting on the phone, smirking.

Doctor Kandt helped her carry her things down to the waiting cab; before she left he pressed a piece of paper in her hand.

It was a list of laboratories and companies complete with addresses and names. Kandt gave her a sad smile. "A few people who could use you. Private enterprises mostly, but reputable. I wish you luck, my dear."

He hugged her and over her objections, paid the cabbie. Maria fought the sting of tears and looked over the list to distract herself.

The name on the top made her smile; if Stark Industries was hiring, things were looking up. She made a mental note to hand-carry a resume there tomorrow, and settled back for the ride home.

Randi was there, draped over the sofa deep into a paperback when Maria came in, and she dropped the book to help with the boxes, clucking the entire time. "Damn it, Maria, it's not fair!"

"I used to think I only had to worry about the men making passes," Maria snorted good-naturedly. "Oh well, I'll find something soon. What's this?" she picked up the paperback and read the title. "Sex and the Single Girl? Miranda Costello, your mother would have a fit!"

"My mother's not here, thank God," Randi laughed. "You ought to read it too—pretty damned good advice in it."

"No thanks," Maria tossed the book back onto the sofa. "_You_ can do the husband-hunting and I'll stick with chemistry. Where's the phone book?"

"Under the coffee table . . . where do you want your plants?"

"Just stick them on the porch for me will you? Thanks." Maria pulled out the phone book and flipped through the pages, neatly adding numbers next to the addresses that Kandt had given her. She could put in a few calls before lunch, and then see about smartening up her resume, and still have time to go shopping if she planned it right.

Randi came back in and scooped up her book. "That hankie's almost dry, by the way."

"Oh? Thanks," Maria nodded. "How does it look?"

"It could use some bleach. Who's H. S.?"

Maria rolled her eyes. "A guy nice enough to buy me a drink and dance with me on Friday. I'll have to get him a new one."

Randi picked up her book again. "Well if you're going shopping, we're out of toothpaste."

"I'll make some," Maria nodded, adding a stop at the chemical supply store. "Peppermint oil okay?"

"Yep. Thanks," Randi murmured, lost once again in Helen Gurley Brown's tome.

By Wednesday, Maria felt a bit better about her situation. She had interviews lined up with three of the companies from Kandt's list, she'd received her last check which had included all her accumulated bonuses, and she'd successfully managed to avoid her mother's invitation for the weekend.

"I just can't get away right now," she murmured into the phone. "I promised Randi I'd help her with her perm, and I may be coming down with something."

Both of those were untrue, but Maria felt only a slight twinge of guilt. Her mother was still trying to marry her off, and every weekend visit home these days consisted of dinners with male guests who had 'just unexpectedly dropped in.'

Her father found it vaguely amusing, but after two years of it, Maria was tired of her mother's increasingly desperate attempts. She shifted the receiver to her other ear and made a sour faced doodle on the page as her mother droned on in a disappointed tone. They said their goodbyes and Maria sighed in relief. She loved her parents, and was happy that they had a good life in the suburbs, but the constant push toward marriage annoyed her.

To take her mind off it, Maria fished out the business card and glanced at it. A general company one, no personal name on it, but the bold logo, tastefully embossed, made her blink in surprise and she smirked.

"Works at Stark's. That's serendipitous."

She'd planned on dropping off her resume there, and now the possibility of killing two birds with one stone put an upturn on the afternoon. She borrowed Randi's Rambler and made the trip.

The lobby for Stark Industries had a huge chandelier done in Moderne, lots of chrome, and a stylishly sleek woman behind the reception desk. She smiled professionally at Maria. "Welcome to Stark Industries. May I help you?"

"Yes, I have some paperwork to drop off for your Human Resources department," Maria replied, handing over the envelope.

The receptionist took it and nodded approvingly at the neatly typed label. "Yes Miss Carbonell, I'll make sure this gets into the right hands. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Maria reached into her pocketbook. "Yes. This is a little awkward, but does someone with the first name of Howard work here?"

Now the receptionist gave her a peculiar look. "Yeeeeess," she replied dryly.

Maria fished out a neatly wrapped palm-sized box and smiled apologetically as she handed it over. "Oh good. Would you let him know that I couldn't get all the blood out, even with carbolic acid, so I hope this replacement will suffice? Please tell him I'm terribly sorry for the delay, too."

Gingerly the receptionist took the small package, eyeing it, and then Maria carefully. "All right."

"Thank you," Maria smiled, a little worried at the sudden reservation in the receptionist's expression. She closed her pocketbook, turned and made her way out the lobby, wondering how close the nearest Eddie Leonard's was.


	2. Chapter 2

He couldn't believe he'd missed her by minutes. Howard stared at the little box on his desk, studying the handwritten note that lay on top of the freshly ironed handkerchief and read it again.

_Dear Howard from the cocktail party at the Mayfield,_

_Thanks for the hankie, the shoulder, and the spirits. I guess there __are__ a few gentlemen left in this town._

_With gratitude,_

_Maria C. Carbonell_

Now he had her name.

Patty the receptionist had handed him the package when he'd come back from an early meeting with the Dulles dedication team, smirking as she did so. "A young lady left this for you earlier, sir. She wanted me to tell you that she couldn't get the blood out of the old one."

"Patty, whatever you're thinking is wrong," he'd breezily told her, taking the package. "Tell me, was she about five six, hair like Lauren Bacall, husky voice?"

"On the nose," had come the reply. "Dropped off a resume as well."

"I'll take that too."

He picked pages up and studied them, taking in the details listed with profession and personal interest. The girl had brains, that much was clear. Not many women chose organic chemistry as a major, let alone earned a degree in it from a place as prestigious as Johns Hopkins. Maria Carbonell was a member of the ACS, along with several other professional associations and had been working over at Kandt's labs. All in all, a gem, Howard thought with a sense of fascination. He flipped through the letters, and when his glance fell on her birth date, he winced.

Eighteen years . . . that would set some tongues wagging, he sighed. It wasn't insurmountable, but Howard wasn't sure he was ready to shift his reputation from playboy to dirty old man just yet.

He rubbed his mustache, debating on the best course of action, and finally leaned forward to tap the intercom on his desk. "Wanda?"

"Yes Mistah Stark?" came Wanda Franklin's southern drawl from the outer offices.

"Come in; I need to pick your brain."

The answer to this was a snort, but a few minutes later his secretary, a lanky African American in a nubbly pink sweater-set strode in, steno pad in hand. She settled herself in the small chair off the side of his desk. "Ready."

"I've got a girl here with a top-notch resume. We should hire her as soon as possible," Howard began. "She'd be a good fit with Shastri's team since he's been short-handed in organics."

"Umm hmmm," Wanda made a note. "So far so good. What's the problem?"

"First of all, I want to know why Kandt let her go. If she's as good at this paperwork makes out, it doesn't make any sense that he'd fire her. Get someone on it, discreetly."

"All right," Wanda agreed. She glanced over at her boss and waited, not quite smirking, but close to it.

Howard tried to avoid her gaze, but finally gave a sigh. "She's gorgeous, and she's damned near twenty years younger than I am, Wanda."

"And this is a problem because?" She was going to make him spell it out. Part of the reason Howard Stark liked Wanda Franklin was this no-nonsense aspect of her personality. Wanda had no tolerance for bullshit, and knew more about Howard Stark than most people.

"Because she's smart," Howard admitted. That confession made Wanda look more closely at him for a few minutes.

"Oh Lawd, this is personal, isn't it?"

"Met her on Friday at the Mayfair," Howard nodded. "Kid had no idea who I was then and may not know it yet."

Wanda's wide disbelieving eyes made him laugh, and he gave a shrug. Finally, she tapped her pencil against her lush lips and gave into the smirk she'd been holding back. "Boss, do you want to hire her or do you want to date her?"

"Is it too much to want both?"

Wanda pinched the bridge of her nose. "_Yes_, Mistah Stark."

"I know, I know," he sighed. "Tell you what—I'll take her to lunch and let her know who I am. If she's still interested in working for us, great. If not . . . we'll make sure she gets something decent."

"What if she wants the job but shoots _you_ down?" Wanda asked with quiet bluntness.

Howard gave a reluctant shrug. "Then she shoots me down. I _can_ take no for an answer."

"Since when?" Wanda hooted, tucking her pad into her skirt pocket. She rose up and moved closer to Howard, looming over him at his desk. "Look, Howard, I _know_ you've been lonely since you and Miz Loni parted ways, but what makes you think this gal is right for you?"

"Science," he replied, simply.

Wanda cocked her head. "Don't say that if you don't mean it, boss."

He chuckled. "We've got work to do, Wanda; let's get to it."

He called later that day and reached a Miss Costello, who cheerily assured him that she'd pass his message on to Miss Carbonell, who was out at the moment. Howard took a moment to chat with the roommate, and managed to find out that Maria was fond of Italian food. On the strength of that, he had Wanda made a reservation for two at Pesci di Antonio for Friday.

It was the first time in years that he actually felt nervous, and on Thursday when Wanda told him that Miz Carbon-ell was holding on line one, he fumbled the receiver before managing to get it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hi. My roommate said you'd called?" Her voice was as husky as he remembered, and Howard grinned.

"Yes. Got your package. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I _do_ try to keep my word," she replied.

There was a little pause, and Howard found himself rushing to fill it. "Listen Maria, I saw your resume here, and I'd like to talk to you about it."

"You did? You do?"

"Yes," he continued, trying hard to sound nonchalant. "It's pretty impressive. I don't work in the HR department per se, but I can pretty much guarantee that they'll listen to my opinion."

"So . . . you'd be interviewing me?" she asked, her tone revealing a slight skepticism. He imagined her expression and it made him grin.

"Yes. One o'clock at Pesci di Antonio, over on Sixteenth and K. Consider it a working lunch," he told her, fighting back the urge to send his limo to pick her up.

"Are you sure this isn't just a scheme to get a date?" Maria murmured, but he could hear by the lightness in her tone that her accusation wasn't serious.

"You'll find I'm a big believer in expediency, Miss Carbonell. Saves a lot of time."

"All right then. One o'clock, Pesci di Antonio," she agreed before hanging up. From the way the restaurant name rolled off her tongue, Howard finally recognized her hint of accent.

Italian.

For the rest of the day he buzzed around the labs on the lower level, and before she left for the day, Wanda accused him of having canary feathers dangling from the corners of his mouth.

He didn't care. The chance to see Maria again seemed to be the first good thing to come along in a while. At home he gave Trevor instructions on what to lay out for Friday.

"Something nice, but not overwhelming," Howard sighed. "One step above my usual work suits, but one down from lunch with Jack and Jackie."

"You wish to make an impression on the young lady, but not intimidate her," Trevor nodded sagely. "May I suggest the summer weight grey flannel, sir, with the matching fedora and one of the blue Dunbar ties to finish the ensemble?"

"Sounds fine; it's in your hands," Howard ordered, and headed down to tinker in the basement workshop for a while. He rolled up his sleeves as he trotted the stairs, whistling, his mind already on the project laid out on the tables there.

Pesci di Antonio had an Old World ambience. The restaurant was two stories, with a balcony in the back. Howard was glad Wanda had specified a table there and arrived nearly fifteen minutes early. The air was hazy but warm; a typical muggy spring day in DC. Howard fought the urge to order something to fortify his nerves and settled for an iced tea instead, feeling vaguely amused at himself.

He was too old to be nervous, he argued with himself. It was ridiculous. Either they clicked or they didn't; that was the honest beauty of chemistry in the first place. The interlude at the Mayfair had been enough to bring him here, but there was no guarantee that a second encounter would generate the same reaction either way.

Footsteps heading his way made Howard look up, and at that moment Maria Carbonell paused uncertainly, meeting his gaze from the doorway. He took in the sight of her in one glorious gaze.

She wore a simple linen suit of pale green accented with a sheer white scarf around her slim throat, and poised as she was, Howard couldn't help thinking of her as a shy doe looking nervously for predators. When her gaze met his, though, she relaxed enough to give a small smile.

He stood. Manners would have dictated it in any case, but he couldn't help himself, and he held out his hand. "Miss Carbonell."

"Mr. Stark," she replied firmly, her words full of wry acknowledgement.

Howard froze for a second.

"Figured it out, huh?" He took her fingers, which were warm and a little damp and squeezed them lightly before reluctantly letting them go.

"Around ten last night," she admitted, sitting at the table and setting her purse next to her chair. "Your photo was in the business section of the Star."

-oo00oo-

She didn't mention the panic that had set in at the realization; the sheer disbelief as Randi danced around the apartment, upsetting their cat, Doctor No.

"Howard Stark! I talked on the phone with Howard Stark!" Randi bragged. "Me! A junior stewardess, having conversations with millionaires!"

"Randi, stop! You have no idea how big an _idiot_ I made of myself yesterday," Maria blanched, still staring at the newspaper. "Oh God, no wonder the receptionist looked at me like I had two heads."

"Why?"

Maria told her.

Randi burst into giggles and scooped up Doctor No, who grudgingly gave in once she started scratching him under his fuzzy chin. "Oh boy, yeah, that was pretty ditzy. But he's having _lunch_ with you, oh my God we need to get your wardrobe oomphed and do your nails!"

"Oomphed?"

"Trust me; I know what I'm doing."

Now here she was, fighting the nervous fidgets and trying to look composed. She hadn't gotten much sleep, but Maria was pragmatic enough to know that time would move forward whether she closed her eyes or not.

"I _was_ planning on telling you," he admitted as he sat and leaned forward. "I just wasn't sure . . . how."

Maria studied his face and wondered if he'd gotten any sleep himself. Considering the slight strain around his eyes, she figured he'd been up half the night too.

"Mister Stark," she began, but he interrupted her.

"Howard. That's how we started and I think it's too late to go back."

Maria nodded, accepting that. "Howard . . . is this really about a job, or is this something else? Because I think you need to know that I'm not . . . I'm not the kind of woman that you . . ." she trailed off.

This was harder than she thought. Even though she'd rehearsed this speech several times with all sorts of cool and confident variations, it wasn't coming out right, not while the man across the table watched her with his big dark eyes and hint of a smile.

"Let me be clear; I do want you to come work for Stark Industries," he murmured. "Sam Shastri needs someone with exactly your background to round out his team right now. My company pays top dollar and we've got some pretty nice benefits including stock options and a retirement fund that can't be beat."

"I know," Maria nodded tightly. "Your company has a great reputation for taking care of their own. And I know a lot of your work is right on the cutting edge of all the major fields. What I _don't_ know is what else you're expecting . . . from me."

She could feel her face heating up, and wished like hell that her complexion wasn't so prone to blushing. Maria didn't drop her gaze though; she'd learned to face facts head-on.

Across from her, Howard looked uncertain. "It's a damned good question. Tell me, who's going to win the Nobel prize in Chemistry next year?"

Blinking, Maria replied "Probably Zeigler; his work with polymers is big. Why?"

"Want to meet him?"

Maria laughed. "I don't speak German. I can read a little, but not enough to do more than order bratwurst."

"But if you had a choice between meeting, say, Cary Grant or Karl Zeigler?" Howard persisted in amusement.

"Zeigler, hands down."

He smiled at her, and Maria felt the full warmth and charm like a ray of sunlight.

"That's my girl. You," he lightly pointed a finger at her, "aren't like other women, and I mean that in the best way. Nine out of ten of my female employees would have wanted to meet Cary Grant. My _housekeeper_ would have chosen him and she's in her sixties. No, you've got a brain and you're using it, Maria. That's what I'm expecting from you."

She relaxed, and shot him an arch look back. "Cary Grant's fine for what he does, I guess. I mean, I like his movies, but I wouldn't know what to _say_ to him. Doctor Zeigler though . . ."

A waiter came over and looked expectantly at the two of them, breaking into the light conversation with a graceful nod of his head. "Signor, Signorina. Would you like to hear the specials of the day?"

Maria nodded, and listened to the boy rattle off the dishes, noting that Howard didn't even glance up. When the waiter finished, Maria gave him a quick smile. "The ravioli, por favore."

"Me too," Howard added. "And two glasses of your house red."

Once the waiter left, Maria took a moment to look around, appreciating the quiet of the balcony. "I've never been here before."

"I was here once, about two years ago," he told her quietly. "Four of us stopped in after some Smithsonian shindig. I remembered they had good veal."

"So why didn't you order that?" Maria wanted to know. As she watched him, he stroked his mustache, and she realized he did that to hide his smile.

"Because I was interested in what _you_ would choose. You're Italian yourself, right?"

"Half," she corrected him. "My mother's family comes from Genova."

"And your father?"

"He's . . . from Flushing," Maria laughed softly. "You know, where you had-"

"—An Expo. Yes, I remember the place," he nodded, grinning. "Small world."


	3. Chapter 3

It was the one of the strangest and sweetest lunches she'd ever had, an odd give and take across the table with a man who seemed fascinated by what she'd always thought of as mundane. Howard managed to coax all sorts of opinion out of her, and seemed to enjoy hearing her stories, even when they were just silly memories.

When the food came they took a break from the conversation and ate; Maria was sure she wouldn't have an appetite, but to her delight the ravioli was tender and the tomato sauce bursting with flavor. She made a mental note to come back to Pesci di Antonio sometime soon, maybe with her parents or Randi. Across the table, Howard tucked in cheerfully and Maria noticed his excellent table manners.

She wondered if he was trying to make a good impression on her, and that absurd thought nearly made her choke as a giggle worked its way up her throat. Howard looked up and she shook her head, taking a sip of wine to help matters.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Just wondering when you need to get back," she replied. "I don't want to keep you from anything important."

"This is plenty important," he told her with a forthright look. "Lunch with one of the up and coming chemists of Stark Industries."

"I haven't actually said I'd work for you," Maria reminded him before she could stop herself. She didn't mean to be blunt, and knew her remark came across as ungrateful.

"Not yet, but I've got faith." Howard shot her a look that was oddly shy, and she felt an urge to pat his hand.

"I didn't mean that to sound so rude. I'm sorry. It's been a lovely lunch. You're making me nervous," she told him. "I do tend to be direct about these things."

"That's good," Howard nodded, "an excellent quality. I don't want to make you nervous, though. If it helps, I'm nervous too."

"You? Nervous?" Now she was slightly astonished. "But you're a captain of industry; you've met world leaders and royalty!"

She watched him look down at his plate, as if embarrassed to be reminded of those achievements. When he looked up again, Maria noted his slightly melancholy expression.

"Those . . . are just things I've done. They're not who I _am_ Maria."

That was the moment she felt a warm flutter deep in her stomach. She drew a quick breath and smiled, feeling daring enough to reach over and pat his hand. Howard's skin was warm under her fingertips.

"You're right," she told him. "And yes, I'll take the job."

Monday through Thursday, Maria Carbonell worked in the Stark Industries laboratories just off the Lee/Jackson Highway. She bought a second-hand Nash Metropolitan that Randi said looked like a rolling sneaker, and made the daily commute to her new job with a sense of satisfaction. Doctor Samuel Shastri and his team there were impressed with her credentials, and warmed up to her quiet efficient ways within a few weeks. She took on her new duties diligently, and found a great deal of satisfaction among the retorts and Bunsen burners, following up on a complicated line of research into resins.

That was Monday through Thursday.

On Fridays, Maria didn't bother putting on a lab coat. Every Friday, from the first week she'd worked for him, Howard Stark either sent a car for her or showed up himself at the labs and swept her away with him and they went to work.

The National Engineer's Seminar.

Lunch with architects.

A ballistics testing lab.

A tour of a steel mill.

Every Friday was spent on some aspect of furthering Stark Industries, and Maria never knew what to expect. She found herself standing in an experimental hydroponics lab in Winston-Salem one Friday, and peering out the window of a bathysphere in Wood's Hole the next.

On Fridays, Howard Stark introduced her everywhere as his consultant, and Maria took to carrying a notebook to keep track of the details of every trip. He asked for her opinions, and to her delight, took them seriously.

In the evenings, he took her to dinner, and they discussed what they'd seen during the day. Most of the time they stuck to small places in and around the city, little culinary gems tucked away and prized by locals.

Maria didn't quite know what to make of it.

Howard treated her as a respected colleague and friend, sharing quiet jokes and insights when they made their trips. Afterwards, when they were having dinner, he was more relaxed but still a gentleman. He held her chair out for her, helped her in and out of cars, brought her home at a reasonable hour, much to Randi's confusion.

Maria felt a little bemused by it all. It had taken her two weeks to figure out that the energetic but shy head of Stark Industries was . . . courting her. It seemed clear that Howard was deliberately choosing to spend time with her, albeit in an intellectually directed way.

The reaction of her co-workers confused her as well. A few were curious, but when she produced her notes of the trips, they shrugged. Sam Shastri told her it was immensely helpful to have her so close to Howard's ear. "He sees us all as separate departments," Sam pointed out. "Sometimes he forgets we need to integrate if we're to be effective."

Some of the female co-workers made snide remarks, but Maria ignored them and kept her expression neutral; that at least was familiar territory to her. She went on with her own research and sat home alone on Saturday nights, feeling slightly confused.

Randi was no help. "He's never made a move on you? Ever?"

Maria shook her head.

"He might be . . . _you_ know," Randi offered dubiously. "I have a cousin who is."

"No," Maria sighed. "Definitely not. I've seen him looking at my legs." She didn't add that Howard had given her a few other glances that left her feeling like Jell-o, particularly after they'd had a few glasses of wine at dinner. There had been a few private jokes as well, and Maria felt pretty confident that Howard Stark was interested in women.

"Ohh, maybe he _can't_," Randi gasped. "Oh God, that would be awful! Maybe something happened to him during the war, and now he's like Jake Barnes, lusting after you but just doesn't have what it takes!"

"Randi!' Maria snorted. "No. Now you're just getting silly. I'm sure it's just a matter of propriety. After all, I work for him, and he's . . . older . . . than I am."

"Maybe you need to make the first move," Randi suggested. "Let him know that you're interested. You _are_ interested in him, right?"

That question made Maria throw one of the sofa pillows at her roommate, who laughed, dodging.

Still, the advice lingered in Maria's thoughts all through the rest of the week, and she was still undecided on what to do when Friday rolled around.

-oo00oo-

He felt like shit. Part of the problem with being the head of a huge company meant constant exposure to hundreds of people, and invariably some of those people were sick. All week Howard knew he was coming down with something, but the thought of missing a Friday with Maria was unbearable.

Wanda chided him. "Mistah Stark, you need to be at home."

"I'll have the weekend to rest."

"Yes, after you've infected the rest of us," she replied, handing him a box of Kleenex from her desk. "And I do _not_ need a cold this week, Boss."

"Take vitamin C; Pauling tells me he's onto something big with that," Howard mumbled accepting the tissues.

He'd planned to take Maria to a groundbreaking ceremony for a new factory, and then off to dinner with the Cronkites on their yacht, but when she saw him, she frowned.

"Howard, you're in no shape to be out right now," she told him. "I'm taking you home."

"I'm fine," he protested, and promptly turned his head to sneeze. Maria linked an arm through his and guided him out of the labs, grumbling. At the car, she herded Howard in and told the driver, "Please take us to Mr. Stark's home. He's not well enough to be out today."

Reluctantly Howard nodded; seeing that in the rearview mirror, the chauffeur nodded back and pulled out of the parking lot. They drove in silence for a while, and finally Howard grumbled. "Damn it. I was dead set on having you meet Walt and Betsy."

"Another time," Maria replied, her voice soft. "You're ill and you need to be in bed, Howard Stark. How long have you been feeling like this?"

"Since Wednesday," he told her, and coughed. She leaned away from him, but he noted she wasn't repulsed, merely concerned.

When they passed through the gates half an hour later, Howard could tell that Maria felt a little intimidated by the green lawns on either side of the long drive, so he spoke up to reassure her. "I'm the new kid on the block," he snuffled. "Bought it ten years ago when it came on the market, so it hasn't been in the family long."

The chauffeur pulled up and held the door as an elegant white-haired butler came out the front door to assist the two of them from the car.

Howard wearily held up a hand. "Not a word, Trevor. Maria Carbonell, this is Trevor, my majordomo by the way. He and Mrs. Cabot run this place and by default, me to some degree."

As he watched, it occurred to him that Maria had probably never met a member of a household staff and wasn't sure what to do because she held out her hand. Mildly surprised, Trevor took it and bowed over it slightly before turning to help Howard up the steps.

"Sir, allow me . . ."

"Me too," Maria flanked him on the other side and together they helped guide him into the spacious quiet of the foyer. Howard didn't protest; every step felt leaden and his head was throbbing now. He hung onto the banister newel for a moment and heard Maria speak calmly to his majordomo. "Mr. Stark needs bed rest and it would be a good idea to have his doctor look him over. In the meantime, I think some chicken soup would be in order as well."

"Yes ma'am," Trevor agreed. "I will call Doctor Stahl, and cancel your social engagements for this evening. Unfortunately however, Fridays are Mrs. Cabot's day off."

Howard gave a sigh; since he'd started seeing Maria, he'd let Mrs. Cabot change her schedule accordingly.

"Then it's a very good thing that I happen know an old family recipe. I'll get a list of ingredients ready and send that nice gentlemen with the car to shop for them while you help Mr. Stark get more comfortable."

"Very good, Ma'am," Trevor nodded. Howard knew the man was too well-trained to actually smile, but the approving tone of his voice made Howard manage a weary grin.

"Don't _I_ get any say in this?" he complained, his wry expression making it clear that he knew very well he was out-voted.

"Not this time, Howard," Maria told him softly. "Please."

He couldn't deny the need to lie down, and nodded weakly, allowing Trevor to slip a supporting arm around his shoulders once more. Before they began the long hike up the staircase, Howard asked, "You're really making me soup?"

It seemed such an incongruous thing, but important somehow. He wasn't sure why; the cold was muddling his thoughts now, and the lure of his bed was growing stronger.

"Yes," she told him. "Go get some sleep, Howard."

He woke when the bedroom door opened, and for a moment Howard wasn't sure what time it was. The curtains were closed, and the only light was the bedside lamp. Muzzily he sat up as wiry, weathered Doctor Aaron Stahl came in and set his bag down on the dresser. "Under the weather, Stark?"

"You could say that," Howard sighed. Patiently he let the doctor check his pulse and heartbeat, then grudgingly accepted the thermometer under his tongue as Stahl spoke up. "I'd give you my standard lecture here about cutting down on the smoking and drinking and working more than seventy hours a week, but we've both heard it all before, so I'll cut to the chase, Howard. You need to pace yourself, genius. I know you _think_ you're indestructible, and God knows you're in better shape than a number of men your age, but you're pushing your luck."

Howard rolled his eyes since the thermometer prevented him from any cutting remarks. Stahl smiled briefly and continued as he packed up his stethoscope. "Looks like the common cold and thanks to those Cubans you smoke, you've got some congestion that's going linger. Luckily, you'll be getting a nice dose of Jewish penicillin soon from that sweetie downstairs."

"Hands off," Howard rasped with a smirk. "That goes for the soup _and_ the girl."

"Oh it's like that, is it?" Stahl nodded, pulling out the thermometer and checking it.

"It's . . . getting there," Howard mumbled. "So, do I have a temperature or not?"

"A little elevated," Stahl told him. "Nothing some aspirin and bed rest won't cure." He cleaned the thermometer with an alcohol wipe and checked Howard's eyes. "Stay off your feet this weekend and have some soup. I'll call you on Sunday to see how you feel."

"Thanks," Howard blew his nose.

Stahl hesitated a moment, then lowered his voice. "I know she's pretty, Howard, but do me a favor and don't try to show off for her, all right? I really don't want this to flare up into pneumonia because you didn't take it easy."

Howard laughed very softly, trying not to cough. "You haven't met Maria, have you? She's not about to let me get up, Aaron, trust me. Between her and my secretary, I guarantee you I'm going to be on my back for a few days."

"I like her already," Stahl declared, rising. He collected his bag and stepped out of the bedroom. Howard heard him go down the stairs and figured Maria would probably want a report before he left. She was thorough that way, and the thought warmed him.

It had been a hell of a long time since anyone actually cared for him, Howard realized. Cared on a personal level. Most of the women he'd been dating in the last few years weren't as interested in him as they were in being _seen_ with him, and Howard understood that on a pragmatic level. Some were fun, some were out and out gold-diggers, but none of them had ever made a serious in-road to his heart. He was too busy and too wary to play romantic games; too aware of the rarity of genuine love.

Some of his friends had it; many of his employees were happily married as well, leaving him to wonder if he'd missed the boat somewhere down the line. Howard knew he'd never hurt for feminine company, but finding someone who could go toe-to-toe with him both intellectually and emotionally had been a long hunt.

Then he realized he'd thought of that process in the past tense and grinned to himself before settling back down with a sigh.


	4. Chapter 4

She loved cooking. It was possible that part of it had to do with the chemistry of the process, but beyond that was the satisfaction of having a product for immediate use. Randi preferred to let Maria do the cooking, and in return made sure to put a little extra into the grocery budget.

"You just _do_ it better," Randi admitted. "I'll cover the housework and take care of the cat if you do the food."

And Maria had. Now she set to work cutting up the chicken and humming to herself as she did so. Initially Maria had been worried about working in someone else's kitchen—it was one of those tricky issues she understood intuitively, but Trevor had reassured her that Mrs. Cabot would understand, especially given the circumstances.

Maria chopped the vegetables and set the chicken to simmer, then looked through the spice rack for parsley, dill and oregano. The kitchen was enormous, and briefly she thought of what this vast room would be like before a dinner party, with several courses all being prepared at once. She wondered if Howard ever had such parties. Her older sister did; Lucy was certainly enjoying New York society these days, much to their mother's delight. Maria was glad for Lucy and her husband John, who always reminded her a little of a big blond teddy bear.

The soup needed to stew for a while, and after Maria finished washing the dishes, she wandered out of the kitchen looking for something else to do in the meantime. The living room had several bookcases and she drifted over to look at the titles when something else caught her eye. In the next room beyond a pair of French doors stood a baby grand piano. Drawn to it, Maria crossed the living room and touched the gleaming ebony lacquered surface with gentle fingers as she studied the folder of sheet music propped above the keys.

Chopin, she noted with a smile. Maria slid onto the bench and lightly rested her hands on the keys, feeling a surge of pleasure at the familiar feel. Gently, she began the Etude, going slower than the signature required as she re-acquainted herself with the piece. As her confidence grew, she finished it and began a simple fishing song from Genoa, playing softly in the warm afternoon light. One song led to another, and soon she was in the middle of _If Ever I Would Leave You_ from Camelot when she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

"Don't stop," Howard snuffled, making his way through the living room towards her. "You're fabulous!"

"That's very flattering but you need to go back to bed, Howard," Maria chided, rising from the piano and blushing. Part of it came from his compliment, which was sweet, and part of it was because he was in pajamas.

Thin silk pajamas in black and silver stripes that hung off his trim frame gave her a new appreciation of her boss. Howard Stark was leaner than she realized, and seeing the hollow at the base of his throat was making her pulse jump a bit. It was so vulnerable and pale . . . .

"I will, I will . . . eventually," he told her as he dropped himself into one of the upholstered chairs nearest the piano. "But I'm not sleepy and if I stay right here like a good little invalid would you keep playing?"

She considered the request and sighed, nodding. "All right, but you need a blanket. The soup should be ready in about an hour, if you're up for it."

"There's a throw on the back of the sofa," Howard pointed out, and she brought it to him, tucking the cashmere around his frame before returning to the piano.

"Any requests?"

Surprise me. And thank you," he told her, settling back and closing his eyes. Maria took a breath and dropped her fingers onto the keyboard once again, going on sheer whimsy. She played college songs and ballads, show tunes and sentimental favorites from the past and when she finished with a soft version of _A Nightingale Sang in Barkley Square_, applause made her look up. Both Howard and Trevor were clapping. She blushed. "Ohhh . . . ."

"Superb." Howard smiled. "And to think you're wasting your time with chemistry!"

"Howard!" she laughed, feeling her face go pink again.

Trevor deftly set a pair of slippers at Howard's feet before rising to smile in her direction. "It was indeed a pleasure to listen to you, Ma'am."

"Thank you. I . . . should check on the soup . . ."

It made her proud that despite his cold, Howard Stark had two bowls of her soup, and looked a lot better for them. They sat together at one end of the long dining room table, eating as the sun went down.

"I'm telling you my grandma Zelda couldn't make soup this good," Howard murmured, "and that's saying something."

"It's not difficult," Maria responded, and added, "Zelda?"

"Zelda Stein. My mother's side of the family is from lower Manhattan while my father's folks came from England and settled in around Coney Island area. Jewish of course."

"Of course," Maria agreed, smiling. "Which means you _know_ good soup."

"Exactly," Howard agreed. "Listen, that's not a problem, is it? My being Jewish? I don't really practice the faith . . ."

Maria held her breath a second, then reached over to touch his hand. "It doesn't matter at all to me. _I_ wouldn't care if you were African or Chinese or Martian, Howard. You're a good man inside and out and I'll believe that to my dying day."

He stared at her, his nose red, his dark eyes slightly bloodshot. Maria realized how dark his five o'clock shadow was, and how she'd never noticed how long his eyelashes were.

"There's a 'but' at the end of that sentence," Howard mournfully observed, "isn't there?"

"I can't speak for my mother," Maria sighed. "She's very Catholic about a lot of things."

There was an awkward pause and Maria bit her lip, wishing once again she wasn't quite so blunt at times when Howard chuckled.

"Guess I'll just have to win her over then," he decided. "Because this soup is _that_ good."

Maria laughed.

After they were done, she walked him back up the stairs and although she tried not to be nervous, Maria was. She'd never been in a man's bedroom before, and although she was aware that they weren't going to do anything improper, it still felt slightly daring.

She knew what _could_ happen. Maria had dated; she'd done a few things her mother would say rosaries for if she'd known about them. Randi had also given her a great many details about sex, half of them from books, half of them from personal experience, which was slightly scandalous and totally typical of Randi.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Howard sneezed. That settled the matter and Maria herded him through the open doorway towards the bed, feeling amused at her thoughts of a moment before. "All right, you need rest now."

"For once I'm not going to argue," Howard sighed, and pulled back the covers. He slid in and yawned as Maria watched him settle himself into a comfortable position. He looked up at her in the lamplight, and the shy but adoring gaze in his eyes was impossible to miss.

She reached out to brush a hand over his forehead. "Sleep, Mr. Stark. You'll be better in the morning."

"Thanks to _you_, Miss Carbonell," he murmured. "Armando will drive you home safely; Trevor will see to it."

"All right," Maria agreed, and feeling daring, she bent and kissed his forehead.  
>When she did so, Howard gave a contented little sigh and smiled, showing his dimples on either side of his mustache.<p>

"_Now_ I'll sleep well," he told her quietly. She turned off the light and left the room, feeling giddy and smiling to herself. At the foot of the stairs, Trevor stood waiting, his expression kind.

"Thank you for your care of Mr. Stark, Miss Carbonell; this good deed is very much appreciated."

She bent her head to hide her blush. "He's a dear man," Maria replied simply.

Trevor helped her into the car and Armando rolled down the glass to speak to her. "Where to, Miss?"

"Cathedral Heights," she instructed, and gave him the address. They drove in the twilight, and with an hour the landscape slowly changed from rolling hills and groves to the familiar city lights of D. C. Maria relaxed as they pulled up to the brownstone and fished out her keys. The driver waited until she'd let herself in, and then pulled away.

Randi's note on the fridge was short and breezy: _Got called to fill in for DC-Atlanta run. Back Monday. We need crackers. Love—R._

After feeding Doctor No half a can of tuna, Maria went to bed, feeling content.

Mid Saturday morning, the doorbell rang just as she finished rinsing out the last of her stockings. Maria dried her hands on the towel over her shoulder then headed to the door.

"Yes?"

"Miss Maria Carbonell?" came a questioning voice.

"Yes."

"These are for you-"

She blinked as the delivery boy handed her a huge bouquet of velvety red roses artfully arranged in a cut crystal vase. "There must be some mistake . . ."

"No mistake ma'am. I'm under strict orders to make sure those get delivered into your hands _personally_," the teenager told her with a grin. "No delivery, no bonus!"

Maria gave him a smile and shifted the flowers as she plucked the envelope from them. It was definitely addressed to her in familiar engineer's printing. "Well then, let your boss know I _got_ them, personally!"

The boy smiled again and jaunted back to the delivery van, leaving Maria to carry in the lush bouquet and set the roses on the tiny kitchen counter. She pulled the card out of the envelope and read it.

_Maria, _

_You've made me soup, you've played piano for me, you've even seen my pajamas and didn't laugh at them—how did I get so lucky? _

_Yours,_

_Howard_

_PS. Mrs. Cabot wants your recipe._

She didn't stop smiling all day.

-oo00oo-

When the invitation arrived, Howard spent two seconds wondering how he could get out of it. The third second brought a quick image of Maria to mind, and suddenly the stiff card with the gilt lettering and seal of the White House held new possibilities. Exciting possibilities.

He took a deep breath and spoke to himself, something he often did when alone and faced with a decision. "She's brilliant, beautiful, far too young and waaaay too good for you, Stark. Maria Carbonell isn't looking for a good time or a sugar daddy, although a lot of people think otherwise. On the other hand, fuck 'em."

Howard snorted. He didn't use profanity on a regular basis even with himself, but he'd already faced a few smug looks and few smutty comments from associates about his 'consultant' more than once. George Roberts was one of the worst; his leering jibes always making Howard grit his teeth.

"Consultant, that's a _good_ one," Roberts had snickered. "I'll have to use that myself the next time I'm on a business trip. Hey Honey, I'll be late—I was up all night with my consultant!"

It had taken every ounce of tact not to take a swing at that fat, bloated face; instead, Howard had smiled and had taken him to a long business lunch. Later in the week, he bought out _all_ of Roberts' suppliers. That had made him feel a little better.

"She might say no," Howard mused, staring again at the invitation. "Not everyone wants to go to an official dinner for . . ." he looked again at the card, "San Sebastian. Still, I'm betting she will."

With that thought in mind, he called Maria's extension at the lab and waited. She picked it up on the third ring, her voice somewhat breathless. "Carbonell here."

"Stark over here," he replied. "Listen, I hate to pull you away from all those fantastic breakthroughs you're making, but I need a date for dinner at the White House. Think you can free up your Saturday and go with me?"

Her spluttering was cute, and he grinned, hearing it.

"But . . . the White House? Howard!"

"Hey, I have to show up and make nice, but I thought it would be fun to take someone who'll make it worth my time. I could get into trouble if left on my own," Howard murmured. Over the connection he heard Maria make a little noise that sounded suspiciously like an agreement. "What was that?"

"Nothing. I _suppose_ I could put off ironing my blouses until Sunday," she shot back lightly. "The White House, huh?"

"Big place on Pennsylvania Avenue," he chuckled. "I'm sure you've passed it once or twice. They're throwing an official dinner for some little South Seas barony, so it will probably be seafood. Black tie, the whole nine yards. So is that a yes?"

"Yes," Maria told him quietly. "What time?"

"Thank you. Armando and I will pick you up around five," Howard told her, feeling a surge of pleasure at the thought. "And you won't need to bring a notebook for this one."

"Randi may insist I sneak a camera in; she's got a huge crush on the president."

"I'll get her an autograph," Howard told her. "He can be bought with cigars."

Maria laughed. "So can you. Oh, I have to go; my terpene's about to boil over!"

"Saturday, five o'clock, Miss Carbonell," he repeated and hung up. The ebullience of the moment lingered and Howard sauntered out of his office to Wanda Franklin's desk, trying not to grin.

She glanced up at him from her typing. "Someone looks very pleased with himself."

"Someone IS very pleased with himself," Howard admitted as he buffed his nails on his lapel. "Miss Carbonell has agreed to go to an official dinner with me this Saturday."

Wanda fought a smirk; she wasn't entirely successful. "Is that so?"

"Yep. Could be the start of something big."

"Will Mr. Stane be there?" Wanda asked quietly, hitting the return carriage.

Howard frowned. "Damn. I'm sure he and Loni will show up; they wouldn't miss a chance to schmooze in Camelot. I suppose Maria will have to meet them sometime."

Wanda nodded sympathetically. "Sometimes those social settings are good buffers. Shall I order a corsage?"

"Absolutely. I have no idea what Maria's wearing so you might call and ask. And while you're at it, get yourself a big vase of whatever you like as well." He bent to drop a kiss on the top of Wanda's head.

She grinned. "You ARE in a good mood, boss!"

"Enjoy it while it lasts."

-oo-

Later that day, Obadiah stopped by, handing over a folder full of specs for a streamlined port docking system. Howard took it and tossed it on the desk; he'd get to it on Monday.

"Going to the dinner on Saturday?" he asked casually.

Obadiah gave a sheepish shrug and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Yep. Loni's dead set on making an impression. I think she's got the hots for Bobby. You?"

Howard nodded. "Might be a good time to talk to Udall and Stevens about a donation for that national cultural center they're so dead set on building."

"Culture," Obadiah rolled his eyes. "Makes for a good tax write-off."

"Not everything's defined by numbers, Obie."

"I'm not interested in what isn't," came the quick reply. "That's why you hired me, and let me tell you, the way things are shaping up in Asia now, we stand to get some pretty fat military contracts if we line our ducks up," Obadiah pointed out. "Anyway, Loni and I will catch you Saturday."

Howard gave a nod as Obadiah stepped out of the office, his thoughts turning back to Loni Marshall Stane

She'd blown into his life three years ago, all big smiles and double-entendres and he'd been caught up in her bon vivant lifestyle. Loni was always the life of the party no matter where the party was. Few people could drink her under the table though many tried, and Howard remembered being dazzled by her drive, her glittering intensity.

The flip side of that polished life of the party image wasn't nearly as pretty, and Howard remembered mornings of sullen hangovers and fights that flared up over the smallest issues. Loni off-stage was cutting and ruthless, a woman determined not only to climb to the top of the social ladder, but to stomp on the fingers of anyone coming up behind her. She could smile and make sweet small talk with a person one day then cut them off completely the next, and that callous streak within her nature bothered Howard intensely.

When Howard wouldn't make a commitment to her, Loni turned her sights on Obadiah, and pursued him instead, making it clear that the only feelings that mattered to her were her own. It hurt, but Howard couldn't deny a sense of relief either. Later, he tried to warn Obadiah, but oddly his CFO merely smiled at the awkward hints Howard dropped.

"Come on-you can come out and say it. Loni's a bitch, but that's all right. I've got her number. She and I, we've come to a nice little understanding. She's going to be an asset to us, trust me."

Obadiah married Loni a few months after that, and although Howard declined the honor of being best man, he attended the ceremony and presented the newlyweds with a beachfront house in the Cayman Islands.

Nowadays Loni was passably friendly to him, always making it subtly clear that he'd missed his chance. Howard ignored the tiny reminders and avoided any mentions of their past, which had worked well until now. Now Maria was in the picture, and Howard wasn't sure what to do. He'd mentioned his relationship with Loni to Maria early on—it was common knowledge and while he wasn't about to deny it, he'd only mentioned the bare details. Maria for her part had been sympathetically tactful, and hadn't pressed for details.

He rubbed his eyes. Loni and Maria, facing off. Maybe it wasn't too late to plead a broken neck and stay home.


	5. Chapter 5

Lucia Miranda Beresford-Tipton, née Carbonell was taller, older and plumper than her younger sister, but possessed of the same quiet charm and common sense. When Maria called her in a mild tizzy about the need for a gown in time for Saturday, Lucia came into town and settled in at the Willard, penthouse suite.

She coaxed Maria into taking a personal day and whisked her off to Lord & Taylor and then Filene's, with a lovely lunch at the hotel where Maria confided her nervousness.

"It's not just meeting the president and all the guests," she sighed, "it's also about making Howard . . . proud, I guess."

"Oh you will," Lucy predicted kindly. "After all, he had the good sense to ask you. John's met Stark; says he's brilliant. A little quirky at times, but puts his money where his mouth is."

Maria ducked her head, slightly embarrassed. "He does. I can't believe how much he knows about so many different things, and how expansive his interests are. It's a full-time job just to keep up with him!"

Lucy rested her chin in her hand and smiled at her little sister. "And yet you're doing it. Tell me honestly, M'ree—is he possibly, possibly the one?"

The old nickname and gentle teasing brought forth a returned smile. "More than possibly," came Maria's shy admission, making Lucy laugh.

"I_ thought_ so. So-tell me about him," she coaxed as the waiter brought them their tomato aspic appetizers.

Maria drew a breath, wondering where to start. She finally blurted, "I made him soup."

"And he liked it," Lucy smiled, not fazed in the least by the non sequitur. "I can tell."

"He's smart and funny and good," Maria dug a spoon into her aspic idly. "Doesn't talk down to me, doesn't think my opinions are a waste of time, treats me as if he's as glad to be with me as I am to be with him."

"Sounds good so far."

"He's . . . Jewish. Non-observant, but . . ." Maria trailed off bleakly, looking up, and Lucy gave a commiserating sigh.

"Oy. Yeah, Mama's not going to be too thrilled about that," she nodded. "You know how hard I worked to get her to accept John, and he's so High Church Episcopal he's practically back-door Catholic."

"I know," Maria gloomily stabbed the aspic again. "But I don't care what she thinks. I'm old enough to consider my own choices, my own wants."

Lucy reached over and caught her sister's wrist, halting the slaughter of the appetizer. "I'm on your side, Maria; relax. So we'll take on Mama together and wear her down but in the meantime you've got a dinner to attend, so I think that's where we need to concentrate, capice?"

Maria shot her sister a glance full of sweet mischief. "Thanks. You always know what to say."

"That's why I'm older," Lucy smirked. "And not to be indelicate, but exactly how far have you and Howard . . . progressed? Holding hands, kissing, maybe a bit more?"

At this line of questioning, Maria felt her face grow hot. "Um . . . not far. It's mostly been very polite . . . what?"

The expression on Lucy's face was bordering on a giggle. "_Have_ you . . . kissed him yet?"

The silence was deafening.

"Well, that's the_ first_ thing you're going to change," Lucy murmured lightly.

Maria snorted. "Easy for you to say; you're married. I can't just walk up and plant one on him, Luce."

"Why not?" she wanted to know.

Maria rolled her eyes and gave a wave of her hand; inevitably when conversing with her sister, all the old Italian gestures returned. "Because we're almost always in public for one thing and because it's something _he_ should start."

Lucy snickered. "M'ree, don't take this the wrong way, but I think _you_ need to give this relationship a little shove. Sounds to me like Howard's waiting for the high sign from you."

"That's what Randi said too."

At that moment their lunches arrived, and neither woman spoke at the waiter laid the plates of chilled salmon mousse in front of them. When he'd asked them if they needed anything else and Lucy had assured him they didn't, he slipped away and Maria shot her sister a sidelong glance.

Lucy was always the self-assured one, always confident. All through their shared childhood, Lucy was the one in the family who gave her the support to study science and major in chemistry; who stood up for her when she wanted to attend Johns Hopkins. She was a confidante, a mentor and a mother hen all in one, and Maria was glad that Lucy approved of Howard, since that meant half the battle was already won.

"So we have the dress," Lucy began with a smile. "Now all we need are shoes and accessories. You're lucky it's nearly summer because you're a knockout in pastels, M'ree."

"I'm sure all the women will be in pastels," Maria pointed out just to be contrary, but there was no sting to the remark.

Lucy shrugged elegantly and dipped a spoon into her mousse. "Yeah, but none of them will be Maria Carbonell—not even Jackie. Hey, if you get the chance, see if she's really as tall as she looks, would you?"

Her sister occasionally made the odd request, so Maria simply nodded. "Fine. If I get close enough, I'll see. So, shoes?"

"Heels," Lucy replied. "And gloves. Maybe opera length ala Rita Hayworth, baby."

"Oh Luce, no—I don't need gloves!" Maria protested, even as a faint inner pang of delight echoed in her. "That's just too extravagant!"

Lucy lifted her chin, looking determined. "Howard Stark deserves to see you looking like a million dollars and I'm going to make it my business to insure that he does, so eat up, M'ree. After lunch you and I are going to take Bonwit Teller by _storm_."

Maria recognized the tone and gave in, knowing full well that Lucy was in her element. She hoped she'd still be able to stand by the end of the day.

-oo00oo-

When the limo pulled up in front of Maria's door, Howard felt like a teenager picking up his dance date. It was an exhilarating and wry sensation, and he took a moment to wipe his palms on his thighs before climbing out of the car. He heard Armando sigh; the chauffeur didn't like it when Howard wouldn't let him follow protocol and open the door for him.

Howard threw him a bone. "You can hold the door open for Miss Carbonell and myself when we get in, all right?"

That seemed to mollify Armando's feelings, and Howard gave a grin before climbing out of the limo. He shot a quick glance up and down the sidewalk, aware of a neighbor or two giving the huge car a suspicious stare. Howard climbed the porch steps and lightly knocked on the door, feeling another rush of self-amusement in the sunset.

A date. An old-fashioned one at that. He felt a surge of adrenaline and anticipation rise within him, wakening up a sense of cockiness that had been cooling over the previous years. Dating. He used to do that; used to flirt and flatter and focus on one someone across a table or next to him in a movie house.

Oh he'd been sitting across from Maria for some time now, but always with the careful construct of Stark Industries business strung like an invisible velvet rope barrier between them. The first tentative shift of that rope had been when he'd gotten sick, and Howard took her cooking and care as a clear sign that maybe, possibly, she might think more of him than just a very busy millionaire.

He hoped, anyway. The door opened, and a slightly flushed blonde peeked out at him, her pageboy cut making her look like a teenager. "Oh! You're Howard Stark!" she bubbled.

"I think so," he nodded, amused. This had to be Randi Costello, the roommate. The girl disappeared and then the door swung open, so Howard stepped inside, aware of perfume, powder, and a host of other feminine scents in the air.

The front door opened onto a small living room filled with clean but clearly second-hand furniture, and Howard noticed a heavy bookshelf, well-filled, along a back wall. He looked over at the girl who held out a hand, her grin wide. "I'm Miranda Costello and gosh, I just wanted to say I'm a _big _fan of your Stark Astro 323 turbofan engines! When I do the Atlanta to New York run, they make it the smoothest ride ever!" she pumped his hand gently, smiling.

"Thank you," Howard told her, smiling back, "That one's a favorite of mine too, although we're working on one twice the size to expand the next generation of passenger planes if we can keep the bypass ratio high."

"You will," Randi assured him, and seemed to remember herself. "Oh! Maria will be right down!"

Howard nodded, and looked around the living room again, struck by the little details: Travel posters and professional journals, potted plants gracing the coffee table, and a disapproving tabby glaring at him from behind an armchair.

He arched an eyebrow at the cat. "I can see how you got your name," he murmured.

"Never mind the furry grump," Randi sighed as she leaned on the banister rail and looked up the stairs, "_his_ only friend is the can opener. Maria!"

Howard turned when he heard footsteps, and in that unforgettable moment, caught the descent of Miss Carbonell in the soft glow of the living room lamp. He watched as she seemed to glide down and turn at the landing, looking towards him with a shy smile. "I'm ready," she told him softly.

"I'm not," he confessed, stunned. "Wow."

'Wow' seemed a woefully inadequate adjective for the slim beauty in the full length gown before him. Howard had never before seen much more of Maria's neck than the collars of her dresses and shirts allowed, but tonight, the graceful curves of her bare shoulders and delicate collarbones showed over the top of her strapless gown. She had her hair done up in some sort of simple twist, but dark little tendril curls framed her face, and tiny diamonds sparkled at her earlobes. Her slender arms were encased in long gloves that matched the pale peach satin of her gown and the elegant orchid at her waist.

"Thank you, but you're not allowed to make me feel nervous; I'm jumpy enough as it is," Maria chided him sweetly. She looked at Randi. "All right, I'm not sure when we'll be home, but I have my keys."

Randi gave her a quick hug. "I'll admit it; I'm jealous. Have a great time, Maria. Nice to meet you, Mr. Stark."

"Howard," he told Randi, "Anyone who likes my engines can call me Howard."

They left Randi giggling, and Howard guided Maria down the porch steps, enthralled by her elegance. Someone a few porches down gave a wolf-whistle, and Maria gave a wave.

"Thank you, Mr. Arnatti!"

Armando held the door as she gracefully tucked herself in, and Howard climbed in afterwards, settling into the seat next to her. He took a moment to luxuriate in the warmth of her presence, and the amount of skin now open to his gaze.

He wanted to kiss her neck, wanted it very much; that long and delicate curve drew Howard closer, and the rush of desire had him off-step and lacking his usual confidence.

Maria turned her head to look at him and drew a deep breath. "Thank you for the corsage."

"You're welcome," Howard murmured, feeling his face grow warm. To cover it, he cleared his throat a little and regretfully turned his thoughts to the one issue that threatened to spoil the evening. "Maria . . . about tonight? My associate Stane will be there with his wife. She and I . . ." he trailed off, not quite sure how to say what needed to be said.

"You have a history," Maria murmured, not meeting his eyes. The big car moved through the streets as they drove on. "I know."

"Oh."

"You told me yourself," Maria reminded him quietly. "Mentioned it after we met with Mr. Stane at the Smithsonian luncheon. I hear she's very beautiful."

Howard relaxed a little and rubbed his mustache. "On the outside, I guess. Listen, I just don't want you to get the wrong impression tonight. Loni was never right for me, and I figured that out before she did. When I decided to end things between us . . . well, she didn't take it too graciously at first."

It warmed him that Maria looked empathetic. "Are you worried about her creating a scene?"

"I don't think it will come to that," He sighed, checking his watch. "But like the Boy Scouts it's a good idea to be prepared, and I just . . . I just don't want anything to ruin tonight for you," Howard admitted. "For us. Did I tell you that you look beautiful?"

"I got the impression you approved," Maria finally smiled. "You look very handsome yourself, Mr. Stark."

"Thank you," he mumbled, feeling foolish. Foolish and lucky, light with happy anticipation for the night as he took her gloved hand in his and the car drove on.

-oo00oo-

Maria thought the plump little Baroness of San Sebastian seemed amused at everyone and everything at the pre-dinner reception, and despite the First Lady's smooth protocol, there was an air of lightheartedness to the entire evening. Part of that too could have simply been having Howard at her side. He guided her along, clearly an old hand at this sort of soirée and Maria appreciated his consideration.

He spoke to her in a low tone, pointing people out and making observations that were both amusing and helpful; Maria tried not to giggle at his descriptions of a few fellow guests as they mingled in the Blue Room.

"That's Tolson, here to make sure Jack remembers Hoover's got his eye on him," Howard murmured softly. "And that couple over there are Kenneth Noland and Mary Pinchot Meyer. They're painters, although you couldn't prove it by what they've produced."

She met and chatted with several people, working to overcome her naturally demure nature, aware of Howard standing beside her in support. Maria relaxed and had begun to think that the evening might turn out well after all when another couple came up to them, their very pace direct and confident.

"I see you made it, boss," Obadiah Stane grinned his teeth very white. "And Miss Carbonell, very nice to meet you again."

Maria shook his proffered hand, suddenly glad she wore gloves. There was something predatory in the man's gaze, a hint of shark behind the good humor on his face. "Mr. Stane," she returned, and looked at the woman standing next to him, her arm linked in his.

She was a delicate blonde with her hair done up stylishly in a bouffant clipped with an artificial daisy, and wore a chiffon gown that had several other daisies embroidered on it. The woman didn't hold out a hand, and her smile held the tiniest hint of a sneer in it. "So _you're_ the girl who's been taking notes for Howard. You know I think that's just darling."

Maria managed a smile she didn't feel. "Mrs. Stane. I've heard so many amazing things about you," she murmured in utter sincerity.

The tone seemed to throw the woman off; she hesitated a fraction of a second and laughed. "All good I hope!" She grudgingly held out her hand, wrist heavy with diamond bracelets. "Loni Stane."

"Maria Carbonell," Maria replied, shaking it gently. "Oh my, your eyes truly _are_ the color of baltic amber. That's such a unique range of shades."

This further compliment seemed to fluster Loni Stane, who shot a glance at Howard. "Oh, uh, thank you. Howard, what have you been telling this young thing about me?"

"Me? Not a thing," Howard replied, unable to hide a small grin. "Maria's specialty is resins, so she knows her succinite."

Maria kept smiling, not offering anything more, and for a moment savored the puzzled expression her words had created. The woman had been prepared to bite and had gotten patted instead; a technique Maria had learned over the years and had theorized would work with someone as vain and condescending as Loni Stane.

And it had. Round one was hers, clearly.

"Come on, Loni, let's get some champagne before it's all gone," Obadiah murmured, moving his wife along. "I think you need some. Talk to you later, Howard."

As they stepped away, Maria felt Howard bend to whisper in her ear, his breath stirring the little tendrils. "Brilliant. Completely brilliant, my darling Miss Carbonell. I'm going to _kiss_ you for that."

She inclined her head and shot him a sidelong glance, feeling herself blush a bit. "Oh really? You had better _keep_ that promise, Howard Stark."

He lifted her hand and lightly kissed it, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Consider this a down payment then. Champagne?"

"Yes please," Maria snickered, and watched him saunter up to a waiter, leaving her to catch her breath and admire his backside all in one.

The evening was definitely getting better all the time.


	6. Chapter 6

It dawned on Howard about half-way through his entrée that Maria wasn't eating much. He looked at her plate, noting she'd had only a few delicate bites of the grilled salmon, and shot her a questioning look.

Amazingly, she seemed to understand his unspoken question, and gave him a shy smile. "Too distracted by all the sights and company," she murmured in an undertone. The other guests at their table were definitely making the majority of the conversation anyway, with a baby-faced writer yammering on loudly and a young woman with the expression of the hopelessly trapped nodding at him.

Howard sensed that Maria was a bit intimidated in such glittering setting, but he was enjoying simply watching _her_ rather than socializing with anyone else.

Maria fit in beautifully, not that Howard was surprised. Maria's family was upper middle class and she handled all the formal protocol without a qualm. He was more interested in was the way she interacted with everyone who met her; who met _them_ as a couple.

It was clear that some people thought he was robbing the cradle. Howard tried not to let their faint disapproval or speculative glances bother him although it was difficult at times. Some people clearly had them pegged in that platonic mentor relationship that Howard had promoted during all their trips together.

And some, like the baroness herself, seemed to sense something else, and smiled warmly at the two of them. Howard liked that best of all, that acceptance of the changed paradigm brought forth through the evening.

"Penny for your thoughts," Maria teased him gently as the soup course was brought out. He leaned over to whisper in her ear, savoring the scent of rosewater coming from her skin.

"Writer boy over there is staring at you. I think he's jealous."

Maria ducked her head trying not to laugh, and whispered back, "Howard!"

"I only have eyes for you," he promised in a solemn tone, making her nearly splutter. She lifted her head and made some small talk with the gentleman on the other side of her, but Howard felt her reach down to pat his thigh in a warning.

The minute her gloved hand touched him, however, a surge of desire flared through him with breathless speed, searing his senses. Thoughts of her hands along his leg, along his thigh let to other mental images completely inappropriate to the current setting, and Howard deliberately drank down a hot spoonful of soup to distract himself.

The memory of that simple touch lingered through the rest of the dinner, thought, and Howard fought to keep his mind from straying into the more carnal aspect of his thoughts.

He'd had carnal thoughts about Maria before. Frequently, if he was being honest with himself. She appealed to him not only on a mental but on a physical level as well, and he accepted that lusting for her was a good sign, a natural situation. But to have it rising to the surface here at an official dinner however was . . . disconcerting to say the least.

He blamed her naked shoulders. They tempted him, taunted him in their pretty bareness, making him want to kiss and nuzzle their contours. If he kept thinking thoughts like that he was going to embarrass himself, so Howard quietly excused himself from the table and headed for the men's room, determined to apply a little cold water to his face and a lecture to his reflection in the mirror.

Both seemed to work, and he stepped out again moments later, feeling amused at his own randy impulses. He'd sown his share of wild oats in his younger days-the war had tended to make finding partners easy enough—but Howard understood that his current situation was very different. It wasn't a matter of wanting sex, but of wanting it with one person. One particular person with beautiful shoulders and rosewater perfume and big brown eyes.

"What's your hurry, Howard?" came Loni's soft call from the little alcove. She had a cigarette in one hand and a compact in the other as she checked her lipstick. "No need to rush your date home; it's not a school night."

"Loni," Howard sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Or should I say Mrs. Stane."

"So formal," she mocked, arching an eyebrow at him. "After all we've . . . done . . . together."

"Ancient history," he replied, but gently.

"Not _that_ long ago. Tell me, does your Mouseketeer know exactly what we got up to, Howard? Or is she truly as underage as she looks?" This was delivered in a low, slightly bored tone as Loni took a languorous puff of her Chesterfield.

Howard gritted his teeth; clearly Loni had downed more champagne than was wise to be sniping this hard so early in the evening. "Stop it, Loni. You're going to blow your chances with_ any_ of the Kennedys if you keep this up."

"Jealous?" she smiled, exhaling with gusto. "Oh come on, Howard, you know everyone's laughing at you and I can't blame them. You're dating a _child_, and it makes you look desperate."

"If you want to see someone looking desperate, check your mirror," Howard rumbled, stepping closer. "Listen to me; we fucked, we parted company and now you're married to Obie, end of story. Maria may be young, but she's got more brains, more common sense, more human kindness in her pinky than you've ever had in your whole body."

She made a moue, pretending to be hurt. "Goodness, has the great Howard Stark found true love? How touching. Too bad the mousy little moppet won't ever be able to handle what it takes to be an_ asset_ to you in bed and out."

Howard fought to contain his fury and spoke in a low clipped tone meant only for the blonde in front of him. "Christ, if I hear one more uncalled-for remark about Maria, I'll make sure you're the next subject of several national tabloids, Loni! You won't be invited to many Beltway garden parties once _Confidential_ splashes your sex life across its front cover."

Loni looked at him, her eyes narrowing in alarmed fury. "You wouldn't _dare_."

"Sure I would," he growled, feeling a surge of distain rising up. "The gossip rags _expect_ the worst of me; I'm a millionaire. But _you_—the wife of a respectable industrialist and a noted Washington hostess in your own right—your public reputation could be trashed in a matter of hours, Loni. Hours."

She made a production of dropping her cigarette on the carpet and grinding it out, giving the illusion of boredom, but Howard could see Loni's agitation in the fidgeting of her fingers. "Awfully protective of your little princess, aren't you? Well I don't give a damn anyway, Howard—you won't have anyone but yourself to blame if little Miss Parochial School Virgin won't give you anything more strenuous than once a week missionary with the lights out."

Howard laughed without humor. "Newsflash; there's more to men and women than sex, but I guess you wouldn't know that. Go back to your afternoon tennis instructors and social functions Mrs. Stane, and leave me the hell alone."

He turned and headed back to the table, feeling angry at Loni, and angry at himself for their past involvement. His expression must have shown his feelings because Maria shot him a worried look that instantly made him feel guilty.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Howard offered, and scanned the room. Obie had an unreadable expression on his face as he methodically sliced his steak. His wife wasn't back yet, but Howard didn't care. Under the table he felt Maria's gloved hand reach for his and squeeze it gently.

He squeezed back and just like that, the tension created by the exchange with Loni dissolved under Maria's touch. Taking a deep breath, he picked up his fork and began to finish his dinner.

Afterwards there was dancing in the East Room, and Howard felt it was a better dessert than the San Sebastian Torte had been. He and Maria took to the floor and once again the feel of her in his arms gave Howard a sense of comfort and intimacy he'd never felt with anyone before. She was warm and sweet, and moved easily with him to the music, bringing a pleasure to foxtrot that he hadn't known in ages.

"I didn't know you liked to dance," Maria murmured up into his face.

"I didn't either; must have something to do with the right partner."

"That's a lot of butter, even for you," Maria accused, not quite able to keep from smirking. Howard looked towards the ceiling, trying for innocence.

"To tell the truth, Maria, I've never been much of a hoofer, but with you . . ." he trailed off, and she gave a small chuckle.

"I think the same is true for me."

At that moment Howard felt a tap on his shoulder and was about to tell whoever it was to go the hell away, but found his words halted by Jack Kennedy's smile.

"May I?"

It was hard to let Maria go, but Howard gracefully stepped aside to let the president cut in. They turned away, and he reluctantly moved to the edges of the room, keeping an eye on them; generally Jack would never do more than flirt while Jackie was in the room, but there was a first time for everything.

-oo00oo-

The dance with the President had Maria completely tongue-tied, but he was charming and complimented her enough to make her smile.

"You are helping me work up the courage to ahsk the baroness to dance," the President told her, his Boston accent thick. "And I do appreciate that."

Maria tried to leave the dance floor once the number ended, but before she could, Obadiah Stane took her from the President in a smooth handoff.

"Sir," Obadiah nodded, and she found herself dancing again, this time with trepidation. Over his shoulder she spotted Howard, watching, and Maria shook her head minutely at him, then looked up at Obadiah and smiled.

"Well, well. Maria Carbonell," he mused as they swung around lightly. "Howard's been seeing quite a lot of you lately."

She nodded; it was pointless to deny the comment, and Maria sensed it was merely Obadiah's opening. "Yes. He seems to like my company."

"Understandable," Obadiah nodded genially. "Howard's always had an eye for beauty."

That remark _should _have been a compliment, but Maria sensed that Stane was making an observation rather than trying to flatter her, so she said nothing.

"You're smart," he added. "Not just academically, but socially. You have that rare gift of reading people and knowing what to say, the way you did with Loni. She's still trying to figure you out."

"I'm not particularly complicated," Maria protested, wishing the song would end and bring the dance to an end. "Just a chemist."

"Chemistry . . . the science of combining compounds with an eye towards a specific reaction," Obadiah murmured. "Keep in mind that compounds aren't limited to what you find in a lab, Maria. Personally? I think you're good for Howard."

"Thank you," she replied in an uncertain tone, wondering what his words meant precisely.

"He's been alone too long," Obadiah continued. "I don't want him going around the bend like Hughes is doing. _Our_ Howard needs someone who cares about him."

Now Maria wasn't sure whether to laugh or not; Obadiah seemed to be under the mistaken impression that his views settled matters, and that she now had his blessing to continue her relationship with Howard.

This insight struck her as supremely funny, although she kept a straight face. "Howard matters a great deal to me," she murmured. "I've never met anyone like him."

Obadiah shot her a keen look. "He's unique all right. I'm glad you realize that, and I think he's ready to settle down. You'll have to forgive me for being frank here, but out of the two of us, I'm pretty sure Howard's the better candidate for fatherhood."

Maria blinked at this bald statement, and managed to murmur a sound of agreement as the song ended. Howard was at her elbow, rescuing her from any further comments, but Obadiah gave a nod as he gallantly released her gloved fingers.

She took a deep breath and instantly Howard shot her a concerned look. "Are you all right?"

"I think I need some air," she told him softly.

"We could call it a night," Howard assured her in a quiet voice. "It's after ten already, and things are winding down anyway, if you'd like to go."

Maria nodded, and after another twenty minutes of thanking the Baroness, the President, the First Lady and other assorted guests, they eventually found themselves out at the steps in the warm evening air, climbing into the limo.

Once they'd settled into the seat, Howard caught her eye in the dim light. "Did Obie say something to upset you?"

"It didn't upset me; Mr. Stane simply let me know that he approves of me as your potential caretaker and mother to your future offspring," Maria told him dryly, but the corners of her mouth went up as she said it.

She watched Howard slump back against the upholstery at a rare loss for words. Finally he ran a hand through his hair, disrupting the Brylcreemed smoothness and loosening a few curls. "Jesus. That manipulating bastard . . ."

"It caught me off-guard, but I'm not upset," Maria repeated. "I think he means well, he just really doesn't know how to socialize."

"That's an understatement," Howard grumbled. He rapped on the window and it rolled down. "Armando, we're taking the lady home."

"No—" Maria objected, and then flushed. "I mean, I just . . ."

Howard waited, and she gradually managed to get the words out. "I just feel like driving for a bit. Driving fast, you know? With the windows down."

He held her gaze a long moment, and then smiled. Turning back to the window, Howard ordered, "Stark Building. Executive garage, please."

When they climbed out of the limo fifteen minutes later, Maria looked around, wide-eyed. Howard was leaning in the driver window giving instructions, and then came over to her as the limo pulled away. "Sent Armando home, so . . . the Porsche or the Corvair?"

Maria looked at him with bright eyes. "You'd really let _me_ drive?"

He looked surprised for a moment, but rubbed his mustache and then nodded. "Pick a car."

Maria picked up her hem and moved to the 356 Porsche, settling in behind the wheel and carefully tucking her dress up to safely work the pedals. Howard climbed into the passenger seat and handed her the keys. "All yours."

She took them and they were off. Maria took her time getting the feel of the car as they made their way through the nearly empty streets of DC. Neither she nor Howard spoke much, but the quiet was a good one. Howard undid his bowtie, giving a sigh of relief as he did so. With one hand she reached up to fish out the bobby pins that held her hair up, and then unrolled the window to finish the process.

Howard laughed. "Getting comfortable?"

"Yes. Do you mind if I go a bit faster?"

"You're not likely to scare me," Howard told her. "I fly planes, remember?"

They drove, leaving Washington behind them as they picked up speed and headed into Virginia; Howard recognized the Lee/Jackson highway even as he appreciated Maria's deft handling of the car. The dark tree-filled landscape flew by, and after a while they reached the lab. Maria turned the car around in the dark parking lot, expertly pulling off a screeching bootlegger reverse that left Howard grinning as he braced his palms against the dashboard. "You've been holding out on me . . . Who taught you to drive like this?" he demanded playfully.

Maria flashed him a smile. "My cousin. He taught me _and_ my sister to drive. Told us if we passed our tests on the first try, he'd teach us to drive the way the police do."

"I like it." he told her. "But you need a better car than a Nash for skills like these."

"I need the Metro. Its limitations keep me from getting tickets."

That made him laugh, and by the time they arrived back in Cathedral Heights, it was just after one in the morning. Maria reluctantly slid out of the seat, finger-combing her hair. She was grateful that the porch light wasn't on; instead, one of the living room lamps gave a soft glow through the window. Howard trotted up the steps behind her, his own hair back to waves thanks to the open windows.

She turned to him, holding his gaze, feeling desire like warm molasses through her consciousness. He gave a little sigh. "I'm nervous as hell," Howard muttered.

That little bit of honesty was enough, and Maria slid her gloved arms up over his shoulders. "Not as much as I am," she whispered, and gently kissed him.

The brush of his mustache tickled, but it was the soft warmth of his mouth that left her giddy. Howard's arms slid around her, pulling her closer, and suddenly all their little moments of attraction flared into simple desire between them. She gave a muffled little moan, pressing closer and opening her lips in invitation, deepening the kiss, shocked and thrilled when he did.

Kissing Howard was dark and exciting and breathless all at the same time, Maria realized. He played delicious little games with his tongue, and by the time she pulled back for a breath she felt her pulse hammering hard.

"Th-thank you," Maria gasped, and kissed Howard again, delving once more into the heat and sweetness of his mouth.

They stayed entwined for a long while, savoring each other in a wordless dialog of kisses and sighs that ended oh too soon when Howard reluctantly gave her lips a last, almost chaste peck, and drew back with a groan. "Much as I don't want tonight to end, it's already tomorrow, Sweetheart."

Maria gave a little growl that made them both chuckle softly; she licked her lips and looked up at him. "This . . . this changes things, you know."

"Yes," he nodded gravely. "About time, too. Thought I was going to go out of my mind being a gentleman. It's hard work."

"You don't have to be anything but Howard Stark," Maria assured him firmly. "The man I care about."

She slipped inside the house, and peeked out the window, watching him bounce down the steps to the Porsche, his stride as light as her heart felt.

He turned to look, and caught her watching him. Howard blew her a kiss, climbed in and drove away.


	7. Chapter 7

Howard found the next week a challenge to his concentration. Normally he was able to put his focus on whatever the task at hand required, with the cheerful thought that on Friday Maria would be waiting to join him on whatever excursion Wanda had laid out on the agenda. That had been the norm for months now, but in the days after the official dinner, Howard had the air of a man both distracted and delighted.

Wanda noticed immediately, and pulled out her rolodex, flipping through the cards until she found the one for the florist, then setting it near the phone. She listened to Howard whistle in his office, and waited until he stuck his head out the door to smile at him.

"Nice dinner?"

"Incredible. Superlative. Wonderful," Howard replied, smiling.

"What did you have?"

"Can't remember. Something with fish I think. I need you to send-"

"Flowers," Wanda finished for him. "Arrangement or bouquet?"

"Both," Howard decided.

She put down her pen and her smile widened. "That must have been _some_ dinner, boss."

Howard actually seemed to blush a bit; Wanda looked more closely to confirm it. "Roses. Pink and red and white. You know the address, and get them to send a kid over so I can do the card myself, all right? Oh, and pick up something for your desk too."

"I'm getting spoiled," she warned him, reaching to make the call.

"Eh, I'll risk it."

Later that day, Howard picked up the paper and found the article about the dinner in the society section; he was listed as a guest, but Maria wasn't mentioned. That irritated him, and he nearly reached for the phone when he hesitated.

Howard knew how publicity worked; how it had two sides, and flipped as easily as a coin. What made you a hero one day would make you a villain the next, and while he'd built up a thick skin to the barbs of the press, the thought of them making digs at Maria made him grind his molars a bit. He considered his situation, and buzzed Wanda instead.

"Sir?"

"Who do we have in public relations who's good?" Howard asked.

"Company or personal?"Wanda picked up things at light-speed; part of her indispensability.

Howard occasionally took flack from business associates—ones from the South especially—for hiring a negro, but when that fact was pointed out to him he always blinked a little. He'd hired Wanda because she was smart, organized, knew DC inside and out, and tolerated a workday that few others could keep up with. The color of her skin never even entered the equation.

"Personal," he told her. "If I'm going to go courting, I'd like a few preemptive strikes, news-wise."

"Then you want Galen Cervantes," Wanda replied. "He works under Noah in the Press Release office."

"And why him?"

"Because he came to us from the Chronicle in San Francisco and he's handling most of the publicity packets for our executives."

"Journalism background, familiarity with society pages?" Howard nodded, even though no-one was in the office to see it.

"Exactly. Bernice over there says he's discreet too."

Howard understood; that was code for 'covers for Noah when his boss is hung over.'

"Sounds like the man I need. Can you have him come down and get us a lunch brought in? Maybe something from a sub shop?"

"Yes sir."

Galen Cervantes was younger than Howard expected, a slim, well-dressed young man with an olive complexion, freckles and wavy red hair. He followed Wanda into the office and extended his hand; Howard noted how the heavy gold watch hung on the man's thin wrist.

"It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Stark," came the unexpectedly deep voice. "What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Cervantes, I'm glad you could come at such short notice," Howard nodded, and waved towards the chair next to his desk.

He had two chairs in his office, one comfortable, and the other far less so. Howard made it a point to set out the appropriate chair as a small tactical advantage when having a private meeting. This was the comfortable chair. Galen Cervantes sat, relaxed but watching Howard, who went around to his own seat and settled in.

"Before we get started, what sort of sub do you want?"

"Sub?"

"Hoagie. Bomber," Howard explained, miming a sandwich. "You know."

Cervantes grinned, looking delighted. "Grinder. That's what I know them as from the west coast. I'd love anything but tuna."

After the orders had been given to Wanda and she closed the door behind her, Howard looked at Cervantes appraisingly before speaking. "You're the one with the journalism background, so you tell _me_—what would I want to talk to you about?"

Cervantes didn't look startled by this challenge; instead, he looked back at Howard and gave a thoughtful nod. "All right. This is something personal instead of professional, and I know that because it's a private meeting—if it was professional you'd have sent instructions through the secretaries. You're not tense or nervous; there aren't any lawyers in the room so it can't be something scandalous. Generally a company president needs personal publicity when something major happens in his life, and in this case, I'm pretty sure you're not sick or stepping down since you look pretty healthy. I know that you're single, so I'm going to guess that you might possibly be engaged or have gotten married."

"I like smart people," Howard nodded, stroking his mustache. "Very good, although you're a little ahead of my timeline here. Suffice to say I've met and started seeing a young lady who I would like to make my wife."

"Mind if I take notes?" Cervantes asked, fishing into his inside jacket pocket for a notebook.

"Not at all."

Cervantes pulled a Cross pen out and jotted something, then looked expectantly at Howard. "So you've met someone. Is this the young lady who has been accompanying you on Fridays?"

"It is. Her name is Maria Carbonell and she's a chemist," Howard nodded."Works out in Virginia."

"For you?" Cervantes asked, but the question was perfunctory, as his smile clearly said.

"Yes. Is that going to be a problem?"

Cervantes leaned back a little and studied Howard. "I don't think so, sir. America is very much an egalitarian society, no matter what the oldest families might like to claim, and anyone can move upwards. Given your busy lifestyle, it seems only natural that you'd meet someone in the course of your work."

"Good. That's the least of the little difficulties about this," Howard snorted. He waved half of his sandwich at Cervantes and continued. "Let's see what else might be a problem. She's Catholic, I'm Jewish _and_ she's eighteen years younger than I am."

"Is she pregnant?"

"What? No!"

"All right then," Cervantes replied calmly. He added a few notes and made an appeasing gesture with his free hand. "Sorry about that, but it's going to be the first question on anyone's mind. Did Howard get her with child? People are nosy, and tend to fill in the blanks themselves when they don't have details. Sad but true."

"Christ, if I wasn't a sensible man I'd bust your chops for even suggesting it, but damn it, you're right, and I know it. No, she's not pregnant," Howard sighed. "_One_ thing at a time."

That made Cervantes smile again. "Mr. Stark, those of us down in your press office straddle that line between what the public wants to know about you and what Stark Industries wants them to know about you. In this case, the more information I have about you and your lady, the easier it's going to be for me to put out the right word in the right place. The religion issue can be handled, as long as the two of you reach some sort of agreement. The age difference, well . . ." Cervantes trailed off, looking thoughtful, "it's wide but not unheard of, and not insurmountable. Your European associates won't think twice about it."

"Good."

"Since you've called me in, I'd like to know—what are your plans? Your intentions? Is there a sense of urgency here?" Cervantes looked interested and amused between bites of sandwich.

Howard was impressed at how someone so slender could pack away food so quickly. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned back in his chair, concentrating for a moment."Timeline? Well, I still need to meet her family, and ask her to marry me and hope like hell she says yes of course, so I guess we could consider those the milestones."

"Very efficient," Cervantes murmured, but grinned as he did so. "I knew you were well-organized, but romance as I'm sure you know, doesn't always follow a schedule. I'd say go for the first big step of meeting the family and take it from there. In the meantime, what do you want the newspapers to know?"

"To stay the hell away," Howard grumbled. "Look Cervantes, I haven't been a choir boy, and I made the papers plenty of times over the years along with the women I've dated. Most of them could handle it, but Maria's different. She's sweet and smart and—"

"A virgin," Cervantes interrupted quietly. Howard half-rose and caught himself, but Cervantes never flinched as he polished off his sandwich and wiped his mouth. The two men stared at each other for a moment, and finally Howard nodded, ever so slightly.

"She's the woman you want to marry," Cervantes murmured. "It stands to reason that you want to protect her from public scrutiny, which can be harsh, judgmental and at times, unforgiving. I understand that. Would you be willing to let me talk to her as well?"

Howard didn't say anything for a few moments, his expression shifting as he thought. He considered the pros and cons of the request, and finally crushed the wrappers of his sandwich into a tight ball. Tossing them into the trashcan first, he looked at Cervantes. "Yes, I think you'd better. But let me call her first and explain who you are and why we need you—I owe her that. And for God's sake, _don't_ mention anything about proposing just yet, all right?"

Cervantes neatly folded his sandwich wrappings and dropped them into the can. "Absolutely."

"Fine. If Maria agrees with me about the necessity, then I'd like you to take it on as a special project. Don't worry about Noah; I've got a few friends of Bill W. who will take him under their wing in the interim."

Now it was Cervantes' turn to look concerned, but Howard gave a half-smile. "We appreciate your loyalty and we're not going to fire him, but he needs more than someone else picking up the slack."

"All right then," Cervantes replied quietly. "He's a good man Mr. Stark; just one in tough circumstances."

"Kid," Howard sighed, "Happens to the best of us sometimes."

-oo00oo—

Maria found that talking on the phone—merely talking on the phone—to be boring. Consequently, she made it a habit to keep projects nearby in an effort to be productive, and at this particular moment she stood at the kitchen counter making toothpaste as she spoke to Lucy. Outside the day was slightly overcast and the weather muggy enough for her to open the doors and have the screens let in what little breeze there was.

"It was wonderful," Maria murmured, measuring out the glycerin carefully. "You wouldn't believe the number of diamonds people wore. I thought I might need sunglasses."

"Never mind the rocks," Lucy shot back with impatient good humor, "what about Howard?"

"I don't think diamonds impress him much," Maria teased, and added, "he looked very handsome, and yes, I know he was awed by the dress and gloves. He pretty much told me so himself."

The flowers now gracing the kitchen table were another indication of Howard's lingering impression, and Maria looked over at them fondly.

"Yess!" Lucy chortled. "Did you get Randi to take a picture?"

"Luce! That would have been a little too high school. No, we didn't get pictures, but trust me, it was lovely. We ate, we danced, he let me drive his Porsche-" Maria mixed the bicarbonate with the glycerin until it was a proper paste consistency.

"You drove his Porsche? Oh God, how fast? Did he freak out?"

"I did, very fast, and no. In fact, I'm pretty sure it amused him."

"Oh thank God," Lucy murmured in relief. "It's not every man who could appreciate a speed demon like you."

"I'm_ not_ a speed demon," Maria objected, and switched the phone to the other shoulder. "I just appreciate acceleration."

"To a degree that only astronauts normally experience, but that's beside the point. Did you kiss him? _Please_ tell me you kissed him, M'ree."

Maria hesitated a second and reached for the peppermint flavoring. "Yes I did, in fact."

"Annnnnnd?"

"And it was wonderful and that's all I'm going to say about it," she told her sister as she measured out a teaspoon of peppermint, adding it to the creamy paste in the bowl.

"All right," Lucy agreed, too quickly. "I'm just glad it went well. There's a trick to kissing a man with a mustache you know."

Maria hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her. "What trick?"

"You get him to shave," Lucy laughed. "Never works with John, though. So you kissed him. I'm glad it was wonderful, and I suppose this merely confirms your feelings for him?"

Maria scooped the finished toothpaste into a small jar and screwed the lid on tightly before putting into the fridge. "More than ever. I didn't . . ." her voice dropped even though Randi wasn't home, "I didn't know kissing could _be_ like that. Not really. It was like reaching the melt point in candy-making!"

"Hot and melty and too good to be true? Yeah, it's like that with the one you really want," Lucy agreed contentedly. Makes the whole idea of making babies fun."

"Luce!" Maria tried not to grin. "Who said anything about babies?"

"Call it step one, and if you haven't thought about making babies with your Mr. Stark then I'm calling you out right now," her sister shot back.

"I may have given it passing consideration," Maria replied loftily, not willing to admit more, "but there are a lot of steps between here and then. A _lot_."

"I take it elopement's out of the question?"

"Mama would have a heart attack and you know it," Maria pointed out. "_Yours_ was hard enough on her."

"You always were the good child," Lucy agreed with a cheerful chuckle. "And _someone_ has to wear Noni Angelina's veil."

"First I have to decide if Howard and I are both looking in that direction, you know. I'm not so sure I want to settle down; I've barely gotten started at the lab."

"Who says you have to give up the lab? For all you know Howard might want you to keep working a while. He seems to respect your brains."

"I . . . I never thought of that," Maria confessed in surprise. "Probably because I didn't think I'd ever be in a situation like this." She set the dishes in the sink and turned the hot water on.

"Life's full of surprises," Lucy agreed. "Maybe you and Howard ought to do some talking about what you both want before you go any further. Oh, and do you want to do dinner with us? John's got some stamp meeting in Chevy Chase in two weeks, but we could meet up afterwards and get to know each other."

"That would be fun. I'll ask and see." They said their affectionate goodbyes, and Maria did the dishes in a thoughtful mood, pondering on her sister's words while Doctor No jumped up and batted at the foam in the sink.


	8. Chapter 8

By the time August rolled around, Howard knew two important things. The first was that Galen Cervantes was very good at managing information. The newspapers had begun to refer to Maria as his 'charming companion' and usually mentioned her academic achievements whenever the two of them were featured in any story. It pleased Howard to have the public know that Maria was more than a lovely face, and he was glad Galen helped point that out.

The second thing he knew was that he and Maria had a staunch ally in her sister. Lucia Beresford-Tipton née Carbonell had sized him up and found him worthy, an achievement that pleased them both. He'd met John before—briefly—at an investor's meeting years ago, but this time was purely personal, and definitely congenial. John Beresford-Tipton was a bear-like blond man with a thick walrus mustache and an air of quiet charm. He was older than Lucia, and clearly doted on her as much as she did on him.

"Met her at a philately event; even from across the room she caught my eye immediately."

"That was because I had a English Penny Lilac stuck to my rear end," Lucia pointed out.

"Yes, I _did_ notice that," Beresford-Tipton teased, "eventually."

They had dinner on the Potomac Princess, a paddle wheeler docked on the Georgetown side of the river, and now converted into a floating restaurant. Mesh screens kept the mosquitoes out and the breeze in.

"Maria and_I_ met after she'd finished a brawl in the ladies' room of the Mayflower," Howard replied with a small grin. "I rendered first aid."

"Maria!" Lucia gasped.

"She had it coming," Maria smiled back. "Is anyone else ordering the veal cutlets?"

"These Carbonells, they're willowy but tough," John told Howard cheerily. "Good cooks, too—at least Lucia and Mama Sophia are."

"Yes, I've had Maria's cooking," Howard gloated a bit, smiling in her direction. "Strong selling point in her favor."

They chatted all through the meal, and Howard enjoyed the easy socialization with the Beresford-Tiptons. Lucia told family stories, John talked them into dessert, and once the dinner was over, the four of them strolled along the wharf of the Potomac, sharing a warm camaraderie in the warm evening.

John took him aside for a moment as the women left for the bathroom. He gave Howard a direct and frank look. "How serious are you about Maria? I know it's an impertinent question given our short acquaintance Howard, but Lucia's not the only protective one in the family, if you know what I mean."

Howard gave a thoughtful nod as he fished out a cigarette and lit it. "Very. This isn't an impulse sort of relationship, if that's what you're worried about. No, I'm pretty sure I want to marry her, if she'll have me."

"Good," John told him, declining an offered cigarette. "That's very good, given how smitten she is. I just wanted to hear it from you, and to tell you that you'll need to win Mama Sophia over. I've got some advice, if you want it."

"God yes," Howard grinned briefly. He'd heard enough about the matriarch of the Carbonell family to feel a mingled fear and admiration at the mention of her name.

"She's second generation, which means she's going to want to see what you can _do_, Howard. Talk doesn't impress her half as much as deeds. I took her and Lucia to a stamp show in Brooklyn and spent the afternoon showing her how I could tell the difference between a fake, a forgery and a counterfeit. Trotted out my expertise with a magnifying glass and tweezers, and she came out of it aware that I knew my business."

Howard nodded, drawing on the cigarette and exhaling before speaking. "She was impressed?"

"To some degree," John admitted. "At the very least, she understood that I was as serious about stamps as I was about Lucia. You won't have any trouble with Dominic, he's a gentle soul. No, it's Sophia who needs to be won over."

Howard dropped the cigarette and ground it out as Lucia and Maria returned, the two of them looking smug. Each woman claimed the arm of her man.

"You two have been plotting," John accused, lightly kissing Lucia's temple. "I can tell."

"Womanly schemes," Lucia assured him with a soft smile.

They said their goodbyes, and Howard helped Maria into the limo, glad to settle in the semidarkness of the bench seat. Maria pulled his arm around her and leaned against him comfortably, resting her cheek along his shoulder with a contented sigh.

"Happy?" Howard murmured as the car began to move.

"Very," Maria assured him. "I'm glad you and John get along; he's a dear."

"Mmm," came the agreement, and for a while they cuddled together. Howard thought about what John had said, and pondered how best to apply it to himself, letting his mind wander to this potential scheme and that. He didn't realize exactly _when_ Maria fell asleep, but one glance down confirmed it.

That glance was dangerous as well, since the sweet line of her throat led down to the pale curves of her cleavage just above the scoop of her dress neckline. The shifting light through the windows made the sight all the more alluring, and Howard fought the surge of interest rising between his thighs. He hadn't had sex in more than two years, and the warm press of Maria's body along his had him feeling decidedly amorous.

Howard leaned to the speaker grille in the paneling along the passenger door. "Armando, I know we're nearly at Miss Maria's home, but I'd like you to take a nice long detour around the Reflecting Pool. Maybe two trips before heading to her place."

"Very good Mr. Stark," Armando murmured from the other side of the dark glass.

Howard turned the speaker off and sighed, then shifted a bit so that he could pull Maria into his lap. He held her, doing no more than holding her close and brushing his lips across her forehead and temple, but the comfort of having Maria's weight in his arms was enough.

He wanted her, but the desire wasn't crass or merely physical. Howard knew that her youth and inexperience would intimidate most men of his age, but the intimate honor of showing her how to make love would help transcend any awkwardness they might have along the way. At least, he hoped so. Howard Stark knew that he was in good shape for a man his age, despite Doctor Stahl's grumbles, and he didn't have to resort to injections or dubious treatments.

In his arms, Maria stirred slightly, smiling although her eyes were still closed. "I'm in your lap," she whispered.

"So you are. Good place for you."

"Mmm hmmm."

"I was feeling selfish. Wanted to hang onto you for a little while longer," Howard confessed. "You feel nice right where you are."

She giggled, a sweet sound in the darkness, and tipped her face up, blindly seeking a kiss. Howard dropped his mouth on hers, and Maria purred against his lips before letting her tongue tease the seam. He growled back and let her in, kissing her deeply for long sweet moments. When she began to wriggle on his lap, Howard gave a groan and caught her chin, kissing her mouth from corner to corner. "Maria . . ."

"I know, I know," she replied in a breathless little gasp. "But you taste so good and nobody's looking . . ." As Maria said this, she bent her head to kiss his neck above his collar, and Howard felt the pulse of desire throb through him again. He bit back a groan.

"Maria sweetheart, God that feels nice . . ."

More than nice, in truth. Howard felt himself swell even more as his erection pressed hard against the back of Maria's thighs. The darkness left him stripped of vision, so other senses took over. At the moment, he could smell the faint traces of Maria's perfume, and along with it, the delicate scent of her skin now tinged with arousal. Howard's arms wrapped around her, one hand sliding along her spine, the other resting heavily along her knee, caressing the nylon stockings she wore.

"More," Maria sighed, and kissed him again, toying with his mouth and playfully nipping at his mustache. She seemed to have naturally sensual instincts, and as Howard rubbed her back, he knew how easy it would be to tug down the small zipper at the back of her dress. He was tempted, but restrained himself, feeling a mingled sense of exasperated desire warring with nobility. Maria was no plaything, no momentary paramour to be taken lightly and superficially.

In his lap, Maria gave another squirm, moving one hand to his collar to undo the button there under his tie, her slender fingers cool against his heated skin. Her lips followed, kissing his throat and leaving him breathless as his nose grazed her hairline. "Sweetheart," Howard murmured again, a little more helplessly.

This unexpected side of Maria, this sensual assertiveness left him aching more than ever, and she breathed gently in his ear, her voice a soft, tickly whisper. "So warm, Howard. I wish I could touch more of you . . ."

He wanted that too, and although common sense was trying to keep the reins on his libido, the lean seductress on his increasingly lumpy lap was giggling now. Howard kissed her hard, giving in for a moment to his hunger. The shift of intensity seemed to startle both of them, but when he tried to gentle down his kisses a while later, Maria rocked against him, tugging his hand up to the swell of her breast.

Damned near _too_ much, and Howard couldn't stop himself from letting his fingers cup that elegant curve, or from rocking with Maria against the upholstered seat under them. Their rhythm was a little uncoordinated at first, but just as his fingertips tickled the firm nub of her nipple pressing through the thin cotton of her dress, Maria gave a shudder, her eyes closed. Howard held her through her climax, so caught up in the surprising sweetness of it that it wasn't until she opened her eyes again that he remembered his own desire.

But it wasn't as urgent or important as hers, he realized, and when Maria blushed, he lightly kissed her in reassurance, then pulled her head down to his chest, letting her relax little by little.

"I . . . I feel like I'll never be able to look you in the eye again, Howard," she finally mumbled, voice sleepy and yet embarrassed. "You must think I'm . . ."

"Very beautiful? Very sexy and damned near irresistible, oh yes. My God, Maria, that was the most beautiful thing I've been a part of in ages, sweetheart." He meant it, too; the feel and sound and sight of Maria Carbonell giving herself over to pleasure was seared into his memory now, like a vivid, joyful dream.

"I didn't want to stop," she confessed, finally raising her head to look up at him. "When you kiss me like that Howard, it's as if my whole body wants to fuse with yours. I know it's hormones and instinct, but there's more than that."

Howard took a deep breath, and bent forward brushing his cheek against hers to whisper in her ear. "That unnamed element is called love, Maria. And yes, I love you too."

She cried a little then, whispering it back and he held her, aware that his own eyes were damp too. Howard ached, but it wasn't important, not in the face of this new fact between them. They rode to Maria's in an intimate silence, Howard holding her close as the big limo slid through the night.

After he'd seen Maria to her door, kissed her goodnight and whispered again how much he loved her, Howard let Armando drive him back home as he slumped in the back of the limo, rubbing a hand along the inside of his thigh, hoping that a hot bath and some quality time with a handful of lather would let him sleep.

-oo00oo-

It was after she'd made the third pancake that Randi appeared in the kitchen doorway, rubbing her eyes and sniffing. "It's not even Sunday," she pointed out suspiciously, but not so much so that she turned down the plate Maria held out to her.

"I wanted to use up the eggs," Maria lied blithely, turning back to the skillet and hiding her face as she did so. All morning she'd been smiling to herself, unable to stop.

Howard loved her. That felt like gold. Like handfuls of diamonds and fine gold powder, glittering in her thoughts. Love. She loved him, but she'd already realized that. From the moment she'd tucked him into bed, full of soup and smiling, Maria had known that Howard Stark was the one she wanted, even if she hadn't admitted it then. She loved all the Howards he was: the brilliant engineer, the thoughtful entrepreneur, the visionary, the wise-cracker, the shy and lonely soul. She knew when he was restless for a cigarette; when he was preoccupied with some engrossing project; when he was in the mood to talk.

Maria loved the scent of his skin, tinged as it often was with Lux soap and Aqua Velva. She liked the way he would forget about his hair, and it would work free of the Brylcreem to spring back into natural curls. She liked the way he gave her his watch to hold when he was digging into the guts of a machine, letting her slip it on her thin wrist for safekeeping.

"You two _did_ it," Randi proclaimed, breaking into Maria's reverie. "Oh my God, I can see the truth all over your _face_!"

"Randi! No, we did not DO it," Maria gulped a little and set down the spatula, "and I would thank you to keep your voice down!"

Randi however, kept grinning. "If you didn't do it, then you came damned close. You're blushing like _crazy_ Maria, and I know perfectly well what time you got in last night. You're making pancakes because you're happy."

Maria took a deep breath and gracefully slid into one of the kitchen chairs. She made a production out of pouring syrup on her pancakes before she spoke. "I'm just very happy. Howard told me he loved me."

"Finally!" Randi beamed. "Not that it wasn't blatantly apparent to the rest of us. So did that lead to kissing and more?"

"I'm not going into details," Maria countered, "but yes, we're somewhere between the kissing and the um, actual deed."

"Progress," Randi nodded, spearing a section of pancake and swirling it in a puddle of syrup. "And it was lovely, I take it?"

"More than lovely," Maria blushed. "Let's just say Howard and I are very . . . compatible."

"Nice. And in the meantime, I reap the benefits of your good mood," Randi snickered. "By the time he pops the question, I'll be stuffing myself with your homemade cannoli and eating myself out of a job."

Maria blinked, caught slightly off-guard by Randi's utterly confident and nonchalant tone. "Oh I think we're a long way from that, Randi. He still has to meet—"

The telephone rang, and Maria let her fork clatter on the plate as she hurried to answer it. A quick flood of Italian hit her ear and she sighed. "—My mother. Ciao Mama, Inglese, per favore."

The voice over the receiver was light and quick, the words tumbling in a rush. "Maria, when are you bringing this How-ard Stark to dinner? I see the two of you in the society pages nearly every week, and Lucia and John have met him, so why the delay? Are you ashamed of your papa and I, is that it?"

"No Mama!" Maria shot back with exasperation. "I was waiting for you to give the invitation! Howard is looking forward to meeting you both, really."

"This weekend," her mother replied firmly. "Saturday. We will have capon magro and gobeletti for dessert."

"I'll ask him, but he may have other plans, Mama." Maria pursed her lips, trying to remember if Howard had mentioned anything specific.

"What else could be more important? He has an entire _week_ to get his work done. By three or so, Maria, since your father will be watching baseball and he likes to eat early. Three o'clock. Now that _that__'__s_ settled, do you think Lucia's pregnant yet? She was very coy with me when I spoke to her yesterday. How did she eat when you went to dinner?"

"Mama!" Maria rolled her eyes. Doctor No leaped up to inquire about tuna, butting his head against her arm, but Randi came over to scoop him up and feed him while Maria chatted to her mother, deftly dodging questions and wondering if Howard was in any way ready for the Inquisition.

The week was hectic; Sam was on vacation, and too many of the lab decisions came her way in the duration. Maria tried to be diplomatic and patient, but by Friday she was more than ready to escape the files and meetings and test tubes for whatever awaited at her parents' house in Avalon. Howard wanted to fly there, and Maria didn't try to talk him out of it; the flight would be far faster than the six hour round trip drive.

Maria had flown with Howard before, and therefore had no qualms about climbing into the Beechcraft Musketeer that stood waiting at the brand-new Dulles airport. The runways before the dark pines were still new, their tarmac dark against the dry grassy fields, and as Howard cheerily requested permission to take off, she closed her eyes and relaxed.

She wore slacks; her mother would be miffed, but Maria had learned that small aircraft flights weren't conducive to skirts, much to Howard's regret. The first time he'd shown her around a hangar, the gusts from a pair of twin propellers had lifted her hemline in a quick rise worthy of Marilyn Monroe out of The Seven Year Itch, and Howard had impishly applauded as she fought to smooth her skirt down and called him names under her breath.

"Va-va-va-voom!" he'd teased her. "I've never loved aerodynamics more."

"You sir, are a cad," Maria had accused him, but she'd been grinning at the time.

Since then she'd made it a habit to choose slacks whenever he mentioned flying, and she wore a beige pair today, along with a pair of dressy sandals and a simple button-up madras sleeveless blouse and a sweater over her arm in case it got cooler later.

She approved of casual wear as well, which consisted of khaki pants and a dress shirt with a dark red pullover sweater. Howard had tossed his fedora into the compartment behind the pilot's seat and was now pulling the plane into a quick takeoff, his easy skill evident as he smiled to himself. "Here we go . . . nothing like it, I tell you. Just sky and speed."

Maria waited until they'd leveled out and were headed north east before clearing her throat. "Howard? darling?"

He shot her a sidelong glance. "That's your worried voice. What is it?"

"My mother is going to ask you a lot of questions. A lot of very _nosy_ questions. You're not under any obligation to answer them, but I think you need to be prepared for them."

"Hmmmm," Howard smiled, making his mustache twitch. "Let me see. Yes, I'm very serious about you. Yes, I can provide for you. And yes, I think children are a good idea if you do."

Maria blinked. "Er, yes. That about covers the bases . . . although I think you missed the truly important one."

"And that is?"

"Yankees or Red Sox?"


	9. Chapter 9

Sophia Carbonell was petite, polite, and faintly suspicious. Howard made it a point to put forth his best manners as he presented her the bottle of Oeil de perdrix recommended by Trevor. She took it and thanked him coolly, meeting his handshake with light, small fingers.

Dominic however, smiled broadly and pumped his hand; Howard relaxed when he felt the calluses in that grip.

"It's good to meet you, Mr. Stark," Dominic told him warmly. "Maria tells me you've been keeping her busy these days!"

"Papa!" Maria interjected, blushing.

Howard grinned himself, shooting her a sidelong glance."She's invaluable to me," he replied. "I've learned her opinion is worth its weight in gold."

Howard instantly liked Dominic Carbonell, a lean compact man with salt and pepper curls and a thick white mustache. He walked with a cane, but it didn't seem to hamper him much, and at his feet a small Boston terrier trotted along, sniffing Howard's pant cuffs.

"Never mind Pete; he's nosy," Dominic murmured. "Come in, come in. Maria, there's some mail for you on the hall table, mia paloma. So, how was the flight?"

"Good," Howard told him, following the man into the living room. Maria's parents had a two-story house across the street from the ocean, and the view from the front bay window out across the Atlantic was gorgeous. Dominic settled into what obviously was his throne, a large plaid La-Z-Boy recliner that sat caddy corner to the heavy wood television console unit. Howard dropped on the sofa, relaxing. He extended a hand to Pete who sniffed and licked it politely before returning to lie down at the side of the recliner.

"Here we go," Sophia carried in a platter with a lovely array of cheese and crackers on it. "It's light because I don't want us to be full before dinner. What would you like to drink, Mr. Stark?"

"Please call me Howard," he murmured. "I'll have whatever you're having, Mrs. Carbonell."

"I'm afraid that's just root beer," she replied, a touch primly.

Howard hid his amusement. "Root beer would be lovely."

As Sophia bustled away, Dominic sighed and leaned forward towards Howard, his expression chagrined. "I'm sorry; she's usually a lot better than this. Are you sure you don't want a _real_ beer?"

"I've got to fly us back later, so I'll pass. And it's all right, Mr. Carbonell. I understand her feelings."

"Dom," the other man corrected with a relieved smile. "Okay then. I hope you brought an appetite."

"I'm sure I can manage," Howard replied. "I'm surprised you don't have the game on; Yastrzemski's arm's getting a workout today."

Dom looked eager. "Yeah? I knew the pressure was on, but Sophie didn't want me watching before you two arrived. Still, if you're interested . . . ?"

Howard nodded and moved to turn the TV on, finding the right channel before settling back on the sofa, feeling a little more tension drain away. Whatever else, at least he'd scored points by backing the right team.

The meal was exquisite but Howard was uncomfortably aware that the lavish spread wasn't really to welcome him, but to show him up. It was clear that Maria's mother Sophie was determined to parade the fact that the Carbonells were more than just a middle class family who'd done well for themselves. She presided over the meal, making sure to mention in detail how much everything had cost in terms of money and preparation until Dominic finally silenced her with a stern smile and quiet rebuke. "If Howard really wanted to know the expenses dear, you could just hand him the grocery receipt and we could all eat in peace."

Sophia blushed, but after that the conversation was much more relaxed, and Howard found that John was right; the talent for cooking was definitely a family skill.

Afterwards, he and Maria took Pete for a walk along the beach, leaving Dominic and Sophia to do the dishes, and for the first time during the entire visit, Howard relaxed completely. He enjoyed the feel of Maria's arm linked with his, and Pete trotted in a dignified manner along the boardwalk in the sand, stopping to sniff occasionally at some point of interest. The sun was low and the tide was going out, leaving the pale beach slightly empty and beautiful in a desolate way.

Next to him, Maria hummed gently, and rested her head on his shoulder as they ambled along.

"You seem content," Howard observed, smiling.

"I am," came her reply. "You've stood up to my mother, which is cause for celebration."

"I've appeased her to some degree. I don't think any sort of thaw is imminent yet," Howard mournfully surmised. "Although that was one damned fine meal."

Maria laughed softly, her scarf fluttering around her throat. "She won't admit it, but I know she was pleased you enjoyed it. Mama was showing off; Dad called her on it."

"I figured," he agreed.

"When we go back, they'll either invite us to play cards or bocce," Maria told him. "I hope it's bocce myself. Much less sniping."

"Either one is fine by me," Howard replied, slipping his arm around her slim waist. "As long as you're my partner."

"You haven't seen me pitch a ball yet," Maria warned him, and laughed again. She steered the three of them off the boardwalk and towards the sand dunes where the sea oats waved in the breeze coming off the ocean. Howard followed her, curious, and wasn't prepared when she pulled him into her arms and stood on tiptoe to kiss him, but it only took him a second to eagerly respond.

It was sweet and honest, kissing in the late afternoon sunshine, and Howard savored the hint of salt and sand that flavored it. He laughed when he felt Maria's hands cup his ass, a deep surprised laugh that made her giggle in return. "Hey!"

"It's within arm's reach," she snickered. "Grippable."

"So's yours," Howard replied, and returned the favor. Through her slacks, Maria's round little cheeks fit his palms perfectly, and for a moment he struggled against the fresh surge of arousal it brought. Maria purred—that same sweet sound she'd made in the limo—and Howard growled in frustration, reluctantly letting go his grip.

"Okay, this is waaaay too tempting, and I'm not going to blow things with your mother by getting up to shenanigans with you in front of the dog, Maria. It's not fair."

She gave a sigh of frustration and pulled back, her gaze almost melancholy. "I know. I'm sorry Howard, it's just . . . sometimes I want you so much, and we just don't get much time by ourselves. I was wrong to tease you."

Howard leaned forward to brush his mustache against the end of her little nose. He felt his pulse thrum hard as he blurted, "Christ I want to marry you, sweetheart. Instead of this, do you want the big fancy proposal with flowers and violins and the moonlit backdrop? I can get us a table overlooking the Reflecting Pond tomorrow night and see if Galen can arrange a society reporter to be at the same restaurant."

Maria looked up at him, dark eyes bright with tears. "God no! This is perfect right here, Howard! Are you _really_ . . . ?"

He slid his hands back down around her pert bottom and picked Maria up, pulling her against him, his lips close to one small ear. "Maria Cecilia Carbonell, please marry me. I love you so damned much." She was light in his arms, but warm and sweet. Howard felt her shudder as Maria wrapped herself around him.

-o00oo-

She felt like she might faint, but Maria refused to do it. This moment was too precious to lose to unconsciousness, so she hugged Howard tighter, feeling the heat of his lean frame, clinging to him and breathing his warm scent.

"Yes I will," Maria whispered back. "I don't think I could live without you."

"Me either," came his rough reply. "Don't think I _want_ to, frankly."

She lifted her head and blindly sought his kiss, feeling her own love and passion blend with his, and the joy made Maria shiver and finally laugh, breaking off the kiss and smiling at Howard.

"People are going to be snide," she sighed. "They're going to say things about us."

"Let'em," Howard replied, gently setting her down again. "I'm not worried about the general public; I'm a little more concerned with what your mother's going to say."

Maria drew in a deep breath and set her chin. "As long as there's a wedding she can fuss over, she'll be fine."

Secretly Maria wasn't completely sure of that, but considered that with Lucia, John and her father helping to wear her mother down that matters would smooth over soon. "I don't think we need to um, announce anything to them just yet though."

"Yeah, I'd like to get through the evening with my balls still attached," Howard snorted, and added, "Sorry, that was crude. With my, ah, _dignity_ still in place."

Maria felt herself blush, but she looked up at Howard, holding his gaze. "Wouldn't that be dignities? Plural?" To emphasize her point, she ran her fingers up along the inseam of his slacks, making him stiffen in more ways than one.

"Are all you newly engaged girls this fast?" he teased, lightly kissing her once more. "What did they teach you in that parochial school of yours anyway?"

"You'll find out," she assured him, and looked down at Pete, who was holding a scallop shell in his mouth. "Oh that's not good for you, drop it, Petey!"

The dog looked embarrassed and reluctantly let go of the shell, his stump of a tail wagging apologetically. Maria watched as Howard bent down to brush a knuckle across the dog's round head. "Mind if I keep that, buddy?"

Pete wagged his tail harder, and Maria raised an eyebrow as Howard picked up the shell and tucked it into his pocket. "Memento," he told her with a smile.

When they came back, Maria felt acutely self-conscious, and tried hard to act nonchalant. She helped her father unpack the bocce set, carefully pulling out the hand-carved balls and setting them out in the side yard. Dominic Carbonell had built a lovely little green there, and gave Howard a shrug. "I know it's supposed to be played on asphalt or dirt, but Sophie doesn't want me to bring the property values down."

Sophia gave her husband a dirty look, but both of them ended up smirking, clearly lost in a private joke. Maria was glad to see it; she knew her parents were devoted to each other despite small bickerings.

They played three games, switching partners for each one, and Maria discovered that despite all his engineering skills, Howard Stark was a terrible bocce player. He over-threw, and got odd bounces off his throws, generally missing the jack every time. Fortunately he was also a good sport, and took teasing very well. By the time everyone headed in for dessert, Maria realized that both of her parents were chatting and laughing with her fiancé in a relaxed way.

She blinked.

Her fiancé.

She'd thought the idea would take getting used to, but the term had slipped into her thoughts as easily as a hand into a glove. Fiancé. Betrothed. Promised one. Maria gave a shiver of pleasure, and seeing it, Howard slipped an arm around her. "Cold?"

"Happy," Maria corrected with a smile.

Instead of having the gobeletti in the dining room, everyone sat around the kitchen table to enjoy the little cakes filled with apricot jam, eating them with glasses of milk. When Sofia took the empty dishes to the sink she peered into it and gave a groan, setting them instead on the counter. "Dom, it's broken again."

"Again?" he groaned and started to rise, but Howard beat him to it.

"Show me," he murmured. Maria watched him roll up his sleeves, and fought a smirk as she realized what he was about to do.

Sophia gestured to the drain, scowling and shaking a finger at it. "In-sink-erator. Should be called In-_stink_-erator for all it does."

Howard laughed, and gently worked his hand down the disposal, fishing out the accumulated sludge; Maria came over with the garbage can, holding it so he could drop the semi-churned glop into it.

"I think . . ." he told Sophia, "there are some bits of mussel shells in here . . . and one . . ." Fishing a bit deeper, he pulled out a mangled spoon. Maria saw her mother give a squeak and take it from Howard, running it under clean water in the other sink.

"Not one of the good ones—" she called, but her mother nodded mournfully, holding up the twisted form.

"Part of my wedding set," Sophia sighed.

"Silver can be repaired," Dom assured her.

"So can this disposal," Howard told them all. "Feels like a few of the spinners are loose, which is probably throwing the balance off. Dom, do you have a wrench handy? Something adjustable?"

"Sure," Dom agreed.

Maria set the garbage can down and made Howard wash his hands as they waited. "There's only room for one hand down there; how will you be able to see what you're doing?" she asked.

"By feel," Howard replied. "I'm guessing that the bolts have loosened up over time and use. How old is this unit, Mrs. Carbonell?"

"Two years," she told him in a distracted voice. "We redid the kitchen two years ago. I'm sure I have the warranty in my filing cabinet."

"Good," Howard nodded. "I think you should check the date on it before I start, though—I don't want to invalidate whatever repairs you're entitled to from the company."

Maria saw her mother give him a sharp glance, watched a small smile cross her face.

"Call me Sophia," she told Howard. "And thank you for thinking of that." She bustled out of the kitchen and returned at the same time her husband did, each of them carrying something. Sophia unfolded the sheets of paper and scanned it, shaking her head. "Nearly three years old—the warranty's expired." She added something under her breath in Italian, and Maria went pink.

"Mama!"

Dom handed Howard the wrench and shot his wife an exasperated look. "No longshoreman's language in this house 'Phia."

Maria watched her mother try not to smile. "Sorry, I'm . . . annoyed."

"I don't blame you," Howard told her. "The thing should have had a five year warranty at least." He reached down into the unit for a moment, then pulled his hand out and adjusted the wrench jaws fractionally. "This should do it-"

Maria leaned close as he braced his free hand against the kitchen counter and worked the wrench down into the disposal. She watched as he worked, noticing how he concentrated, how the muscles of his forearms flexed. A few moments later he pulled his hand out and turned the water.

"Let's try it now," Howard told Sophia, who flipped the switch.

The disposal purred.

Maria smiled, feeling a rush of pride. Here was a world-renowned engineer who'd helped build the Atomic bomb, and yet he was humble enough to fix a lowly garbage disposal. Clearly something of that thought occurred to her mother was well, because Sophia drew herself up and stepped closer to Howard, tipping her head to look him in the eye.

"Thank you," she told him quietly. "You're . . . a nice man, Howard Stark."

"You're welcome," Howard replied, and after a moment added impishly, "Just trying to make up for my bocce playing."

Maria laughed, as did her mother, who shyly hugged Howard.

"You need a rock," Howard told her as they flew home. The cabin of the Beechcraft was chilly, even through her sweater, and Maria was pleasantly sleepy.

"Feldspar," she replied in a teasing tone.

"Diamond, and nothing less," Howard corrected. "I need your opinion on this, because I'm no expert on this engagement deal. I owe you a ring, which I should have had when I popped the question, so we've got to backtrack here, and that brings us to 'what do you want?'

Maria turned to smile at him. "I'm no expert either, Howard, but I don't want anything ostentatious or flashy. I trust your judgment, I trust your taste, and I'm willing to be surprised."

"You've got a lot of faith in me," Howard smirked. She felt his hand reach over and lightly caress hers before slipping back to the controls of the plane.

"I _know_ you, and I know that Wanda Franklin will help you pick the perfect ring," she told him.

"True. I'll talk to her and Galen first thing in the morning. Get some sleep, Toots, and leave the flying to me," was the last thing Maria heard before dropping off, happy and content.


	10. Chapter 10

"_What_ did you say?" Howard asked, his tone bland.

The beefy-faced salesman leaned complacently on the glass counter and repeated himself, his tone mild. "I said, Arlin Jewelers doesn't do business with Negroes, sir. If your gal would simply step outside for a bit, I'd be happy to show _you_ the top of our line. It's simply company policy, you see."

"I _thought_ that's what you said. How about if I buy this place and throw you out on your fat bigoted ass?"

The salesman flushed; Wanda laid a gloved hand on Howard's arm. "Mistah Stark—" she murmured warningly.

He shot her a glance. "Miss Franklin, take a note. Get Harvey in Acquisitions over to our developers and see how much it would cost to get this corner of real estate."

"Sir! If you're threatening me, I'm going to have to call the police!" the salesman blustered, but Howard glared him into silence.

"I'm not threatening. And for the record, Miss Franklin here is a college graduate, speaks fluent French and has traveled to Europe, South America and Canada. She isn't a 'gal,' a 'girl,' or any other slur you and your damned business uses."

"Mr. Stark? Mr. _Howard_ Stark?" the salesman, belatedly realizing his commission was slipping away changed his tone to a wheedle. "Sir, I'm so sorry . . . I didn't realize . . ."

Howard clapped his Fedora back on his head. "That's right, you didn't, pal. You may have the right to refuse service, but I've got the right to spend my sixty thousand at another store." He stalked out of Arlin Jewelers, Wanda on his heels, and it took half a block before he slowed down enough for her to catch up.

Wanda finally managed to cut in front of him, making Howard stop short on his stride. Her chin was high and her eyes were suspiciously bright. "Thank you, Mistah Stark."

He gave a shrug. "What an asshole."

"Yes, well that's life, boss," she reminded him quietly. "And kind as you are, this isn't gettin' us any closer to finding Miss Maria a ring."

"Yeah, yeah," Howard agreed. He looked to the street where Armando was pulling the limo up for them. "But honestly Wanda, I don't get it. Back when I was in the big one, I learned damned early to appreciate people for who they were on the inside."

"That's what makes _you_ the bettah man," Wanda smiled. "Where you um, serious about-" She gave a wave towards the jewelers back at the end of the block as Howard held the car door open for her. He helped her in and followed, giving Armando the nod to drive on before replying.

"Sure. Why the hell not? We'll pick it up and donate the place to the NAACP," Howard told her. "Next place on the list?"

Wanda pulled out a steno pad from her purse. "Rubenstein and Sons, over on K Street. They do a lot of business with New York, so their diamonds stock is probably extensive."

"Good," Howard nodded. "Damn this ring shopping is hard work. I wish there was a catalog or something where I could just pick something out while at my desk."

Wanda tutted, still smirking. "That's not terribly romantic, Boss."

"It would be a lot faster."

-oo00oo-

Rubenstein and Sons was a small but elegant shop with barred windows and a door like a portcullis. Howard ushered Wanda into the dim light, breathing in the scent of velvet and wax. It was cool and quiet, and Howard felt himself relaxing in the peace. A series of glass display counters ran along the walls, and a lovely red Persian rug covered the floor.

"Good morning," came the soft greeting. "I'm Esther Rubinstein. How may I help you today?" The woman slipped through a curtained doorway and beamed at Howard and Wanda. She had a grey dress with a lace collar, and her white hair was in a coronet of braids.

"Good morning. I'm looking for . . ." Howard turned to Wanda, who pulled out her steno pad once more.

"Mistah Stark here is looking for an engagement ring consisting of a two to three carat diamond in a white gold or platinum band," Wanda dutifully read. "He's partial to a round cut, although he's willin' to look at anything you might suggest."

Esther Rubinstein nodded thoughtfully. "How _lovely_ to have someone who knows what they want! All right, I have several selections that might do . . . please, have a seat at the table and I'll bring them out."

She disappeared behind the curtain again, leaving Howard and Wanda to step over to a wooden table of inlaid wood. Howard pulled out a chair for her. "I like this place already."

"Classy," Wanda agreed, pulling off her gloves.

Esther Rubinstein returned a few moments later bearing a tray that held four small boxes. She set the tray down and settled herself into the empty chair, looking from one face to the other. "All right. The first thing I must ask is ring size. Do you know what size your beloved wears?"

Howard looked at Esther Rubinstein. "Small. Petite. Little."

The jeweler laughed. "Spoken like a man."

Howard looked at Wanda.

"Miss Carbonell wears a size five and a half," Wanda told him.

"Thank you, Miss Franklin," Howard rolled his eyes, feeling his face flush a little. Esther Rubinstein was smiling as she opened one of the boxes.

"We here at Rubinstein and Sons can resize any of these of course. Now this is a ring that meets your specifications: white gold, eighteen carat, with a round two and a quarter carat white diamond in a Tiffany mount. It's a lovely piece."

It was; even Howard nodded, but for all its charms the ring didn't move him. Sensing that, Esther opened another box, revealing a second ring. "This one is a bit more ornate, with two half-carat chips on either side of the center stone . . ."

Gradually Esther opened all the boxes, but none of the rings seemed quite right, and Howard laughed inwardly at his own stubborn reluctance. It wasn't a matter of not wanting to be engaged; no, he was more than ready for this commitment to Maria. It was wanting the symbol of that commitment to be . . . perfect.

He sighed after the last box and shook his head. "Ma'am, they're all lovely, really, but none of them are quite . . . right. Maria, well . . . she's unique. I never thought I'd find anyone like her and now that I have, I want the ring to be everything _she_ is."

Wanda gave him a slightly astonished look, but Esther nodded sagely. "Well said, Mr. Stark. Because you are taking the time to find this ring yourself, I have one in particular to show you. It's not round," Esther told him, "but there are qualities to it that are as you say, unique."

She came back a few moments later, not with a box, but with a small velvet pouch. With care, Esther opened it into Howard's hand, and a small ring tumbled into his palm. He held it up, and at that precise moment, a shaft of sunlight hit the stone, sending out a rainbow of color against the tabletop, dazzling them all.

"Wow," Howard breathed, impressed. Esther nodded, her gaze caught between wonder and acknowledgement.

"Indeed. If I didn't know better, I would believe_ this_ particular stone has . . . a personality," she murmured.

"It's beautiful," Wanda added. "Square, though."

"Asscher is the cut," Esther told her. "Not common for a diamond, unless you count the Hope. This stone is a two carat one from South America, and was cut in Antwerp nearly fifty-five years ago. We acquired it just after the Second World War and I've shown it to only three potential customers in all that time."

Howard shifted his gaze to her. "Really?"

"Really. This ring isn't cut for fire; it's cut for luster," Esther replied quietly. "For a love that is greater than what shows on the surface. Call me sentimental, but this is one of the few rings that I feel is more than just stone and metal." She shrugged, a little embarrassed, but Howard nodded, his gaze turning back to the sparkle of sunlight against the diamond.

"Yes," he told her. "It's the one."

Esther smiled again. "Somehow, I thought it would be."

-oo00oo-

Maria tried to relax, but from the look in Howard's eyes, she suspected this dinner was more than it appeared to be. They were at their usual table at Pesci di Antonio's—the one on the back balcony—and she'd watched her beloved polish off an order of veal Parmesan with rare appetite. The first stars were starting to show in the night sky, and a hint of coolness signaled the ending of summer. She was glad she'd brought a sweater.

"How's the scampi?" Howard interrupted her thoughts, waving a fork towards her plate.

"Good," Maria replied cautiously. He'd talked her into trying it and although seafood wasn't her first choice when eating here, the shrimp were delicious, buttery and hot.

"May I?" he asked, shooting her a look like a puppy begging for a scrap. It never failed to amuse her that a man so worldly and confident could pull a soulful face like that, and Maria chuckled.

"Help yourself." She pushed her plate towards him, and Howard deftly speared a shrimp.

"Not bad," he told her after swallowing. "I like scallops better."

"Me too," Maria nodded.

Howard scooted his chair around, fumbling a little. "Here's one you might like."

The delicate box was glazed pink porcelain, and embedded on the lid was a familiar seashell; Maria drew in a breath, recognizing it. She glanced up at Howard, who locked gazes with her, dark eyes serious and yearning. "Go on," he managed, his voice a little shaky.

Maria fumbled a bit, but managed to open the hinged lid, and sitting inside on indigo velvet, a ring glittered at her.

Hot. She felt hot. And cold. A rush of goose bumps rippled down her arms and for a long moment, Maria couldn't breathe.

"Shit. You don't like it," Howard sighed.

That was too much, and Maria felt the insane swell of giggles pushing up along her throat. She deliberately set the box down and slipped out of her seat, kissing Howard as forcefully as possible, pushing him back into his chair _hard_.

It was a good kiss, as sweet and glorious and possessive as she knew how to give, and even though Howard's mustache scraped her skin, Maria didn't stop kissing him until they both needed air.

"My mistake," Howard panted, "I guess you _do_ like it."

"I love it, and_ you_, Mister Stark," Maria chuffed, catching her breath. "And the box. All of them, perfect."

Howard grinned, and pulled her lightly into his lap. "Can't vouch for the middle one, but the other two are good, future Missus Stark." He reached over for the box, took out the ring and slipped it onto her finger. "Niiiiice."

Maria admired it, holding out her hand in dramatic fashion. "Thank you. I'll have to get sunglasses so I don't blind myself."

"I'll give you a basketful and you can pass them out," Howard teased, and added, "it's two carats if anyone's crass enough to ask."

Maria blushed. "I feel like I have Fort Knox on my finger!"

Howard squeezed her for a moment, pressing his lips just under her ear, and whispering softly. "Don't think about the cost; think about the meaning, Maria. It's an investment in us. You and me, heading into the future together—unbreakable."

Maria cried at that, clinging to him, and knew he understood, because Howard held her soothingly, and kissed her temple as they sat under the stars.

-oo00oo-

Three weeks later, Maria was ready to elope.

She and Howard had chosen December 1st for the date, figuring that four months was plenty of time to set events into motion. Lucia happily agreed to be matron of honor, and Randi was more than delighted to be a bridesmaid. Howard had asked Stane to be best man, and an old friend, Nathanial Reed, as a groomsman.

All the other details-the location, the reception, the dresses and flowers and catering—were in the works but the problem lay with Sophia Carbonell, and her all-obsessive drive for perfection. It wasn't enough to have the ceremony at Holy Trinity Catholic church, no, her mother wanted the National Cathedral, with nothing less than a bishop presiding. Sophia also wanted a horse-drawn carriage, a jazz ensemble at the reception, three photographers and gold edged invitations for the three hundred guests she insisted where the bare minimum for such an affair.

Maria found herself torn between wanting to please her mother, and this only chance for the Carbonell wedding of her dreams, and sweet, sweet simplicity. Lucia commiserated with her, Randi comforted her, and Howard stood by, amused at the hyperbole.

"I have the easy part," He admitted. "I show up in a tux with a ring—done."

"Don't rub it in," Maria groused. "I'm_ this_ close to picking up the phone and booking us to Las Vegas as it is."

"You do that, and the only way your mother will forgive you is if you get pregnant right away," he told her. "Speaking of which, what's your view on the whole baby issue?"

Maria shot him a sidelong look, her smile soft. "I'm . . . open to negotiation."

Howard smirked back. "Good. I'll probably let you take the lead on this project, seeing how I don't have a lot of hand-on experience with infants. I hear they're noisy, and prone to leaking waste."

"That reminds me—when is your bachelor party?" Maria countered sweetly, making him laugh.

"No clue—probably sometime before Thanksgiving. Stane's in charge of that."

"That's what worries me."

Howard smiled at her. "Obie's fine—it's Loni we'll have to watch out for."

"Loni," Maria sighed. "Because I didn't have enough to worry about already."

"Obie will keep her in line," Howard promised, adding, "He'd_ better_."


	11. Chapter 11

Howard smiled at her. "Obie's fine—it's Loni we'll have to watch out for."

"Loni," Maria sighed. "Because I didn't have enough to worry about already."

"Obie will keep her in line," Howard promised, adding, "He'd_ better_. As for your mother, I'd suggest you negotiate for half of what she wants. Galen's holding us to a pair of interviews before the wedding and no more. Wanna go check out an ore processing plant with me?"

"I'd love to," Maria sighed mournfully, "but I've got fittings I've been putting off for a week, and I'm trying to get ahead at the lab before I leave."

"What's the world coming to when you pass up the chance to make rude comments about ball and rod mills?" Howard teased. "Ah well, I'll miss you."

She missed him too, but there was more than enough going on to keep her busy, and the weeks went by faster than Maria was ready for. Lucy helped mediate, and once the dresses—wedding and bridesmaid and matron of honor—were all done, the three Carbonell women had lunch together at the Plaza. Sophia was still in a bit of a snit about not being able to book the National Cathedral, but the lovely shrimp salad put her in a better mood. "At least the catering will be perfect. I'm so glad Antoine was able to accommodate us."

"Yes," Maria agreed absently. She pulled off her gloves and the diamond on her finger gleamed.

Sophia smiled at it.

"So has Howard picked a honeymoon location?" Lucy asked as she carefully separated the celery bits out of her salad. "Will the two of you go all traditional and head up to Niagara?"

Maria paused a moment and shook her head. "Howard wants to go to Hawaii." She braced herself for her mother's huffy outburst and wasn't surprised when it came.

"Hawaii! But that's so far away, and across the ocean! A ship will take you weeks and weeks . . . oh he's not thinking of flying you there _himself_ is he?" Sophia wailed. "Maria, that's too dangerous!"

"Mama," Maria warned, looking around at the other customers, who were peeking over at their table, "Howard flew in the war for God's sake! He's one of the best pilots around, and in any case, no, he wouldn't do the flying himself. We'd both be passengers." She didn't add that Howard being Howard, he would probably hang out in the pilot's cabin and probably offer to take the controls if either of them wanted to grab a smoke or a meal.

"But Hawaii! You'll be gone for months, Maria! Hawaii is halfway around the world! Why can't the two of you go to Florida, or the Catskills? I know they have some very nice suites at the Fontainebleau and some of those what do you call them? Resorts?"

Maria didn't have the heart to point out that the distance was one of the attractions of Hawaii, so she merely smiled at her mother and murmured, "Macadamia nuts, mama. Howard was thinking of buying a farm there, but you know how he is—has to see it first."

"Macadamia farm?" Sophia replied wistfully, blinking. "He's going to buy one?"

Maria gave a little shrug. "Yes, I think so. It's a wise investment. Anyway, he'd like to take a look, and both of us thought it would be nice to combine the trip with the honeymoon. Howard says some of the nuts are the size of_ jawbreakers_."

It was shameless, playing to her mother's fondness for the tropical treat, but it was also the truth. The nut farm _was_ on the agenda, along with several days and nights of lazing about and touring the sights. Maria had always wanted to see Hawaii and Howard was more than willing to take her there.

"Wow, that sounds lovely," Lucy loyally agreed. "Just think, Mama—Maria will be warm and having the time of her life while you and I are fighting the snow!"

Sophia gave her elder daughter a quick scowl that vanished as she looked again to Maria. "Hawaii. Well, if your heart's set on it . . . I wouldn't want Howard to lose out on a good investment. Maybe he should bring—"

"—Back samples, oh yes," Maria agreed. "Of course. That and some coconut cake. I think this will be the first time Howard's taken time off in years, so I want it to be relaxing for him."

"Oh!" Lucia perked up. "This means you'll need a bathing suit, M'ree! Oh they have some darling little Jantzen numbers up on the fourth floor of Bloomingdales! My friend Rhonda swears by them, says they make her feel like a movie star."

"You'll need a hat to keep off the sun," Sophia sniffed. "And sunglasses, and lotion. Lucia, get out some paper and we'll make a new list . . ."

Marie fished in her purse for a pen, feeling a trifle smug at having successfully tackled the honeymoon question, and idly wondered if Hawaii was actually far enough.

-oo00oo-

Howard held onto the edge of the table. He did it for balance, since that last drink had gone down pretty fast, joining the other three in his stomach, but the familiar warmth felt good. Around him, the rest of the men at the table were clapping and calling things out to the stripper on the table who was down to her G-string now, and gyrating like rock tumbler.

He sighed, and looked up at the girl, who dropped the lacy red bra she'd just pulled off; it landed on his upturned face, making the other men bark with laughter.

"Nice catch!" Stane commented. "You can add it to your collection."

"You're just jealous because I _have_ a collection," Howard shot back, still able to enunciate. "Every growing boy should hava hobby." He plucked the bra off his face and carefully dropped it in the pile of lingerie on the chair next to him where it joined two other bras, a feather boa and one patent leather high heel. The stripper finished off her dance with a swing of her hips and blew a kiss to Howard before holding out a hand and being helped down from the table.

"You're not drinking enough," Stane told him, and passed a bottle to Howard. "Here."

"I'm drinking plenty," Howard replied, "but since _you're_ buying . . ."

"Damn right I'm buying," Stane lifted his own glass in a quick toast. "Always the best for you," he laughed, although Howard could hear the faintest tinge of something less than amusing in Stane's voice.

"Cigars, booze, naked broads . . . it's nice to go with traditions." Howard nodded. He was pleasantly buzzed and only a drink or two from being completely bombed but for the moment it was the right place to be. The band at the pit in front of the stage struck up a raucous rendition of 'Caravan' and a fresh chorus line of barely dressed women came out to cheers from the audience around them.

"Hi," a voice breathed in Howard's ear. "I'm Cathy, and I was told to be very nice to you."

"Is that a fact?" Howard turned to look at her. The young stripper leaning over him was bosomy and blonde, with heavy eye mascara. She took his hand and led him away from the table. Nobody there noticed except Stane, who shot an indulgent look that irritated Howard.

"Lots of people have already been nice to me," Howard growled, but let himself be pulled to his feet and towards the door. He suspected Stane had set this up, and it both annoyed and amused him that his second in command was so damned predictable.

"It's your bachelor party Howard, your last night of freedom," Stane called out. "Tonight do whatever you want!"

Howard tried to pull against the girl's hand, but she was stronger and certainly more sober than he was at the moment, which meant they were now in the darkened coatroom of the strip club. Dark jackets hung on hangers, and the smells of cigarette smoke, alcohol and industrial carpet cleaner tinted the air.

The girl, Cathy, pressed herself up against him and giggled. "So, let's have fun," she cooed, and kissed him. Howard flinched as she wrapped herself around him, and he held completely still until she pulled her face back from his, looking at him in confusion. "What's the matter, baby? Don't you like me?"

Howard reached one hand to wipe the lipstick he could feel along his lower lip, and the other into his pocket. "I like you fine. I just don't want to hurt you."

Cathy laughed, but it was a little uncertainly now. "Oh I know you're big, honey, but I'm all grown up myself. You won't hurt me." She wiggled against him, but Howard managed to shift and pulled his wallet out, flipping through it for a second, and fishing something out.

He'd come prepared for this.

"But I will. I'll break your heart," he murmured confidently and held out a snapshot as he leaned against the door. "See this? This is the most wonderful, beautiful, sweetest girl in the world, and I'm marrying her. Take a look. This is my Maria."

"She's probably very nice, but she's not here right now," Cathy soothed, but Howard smiled wryly.

"Oh yes she is. Maria's here all right. She's right here," he tapped his head and winced, then dropped his fingers to his chest. "Annnnd here. My Maria is almost a part of me. She's my soulmate and I love her. I love her so much that even though you're an incredibly hot little tomato with a nice tushie, I'm going to save myself for marriage."

"Really?" Cathy was looking at him with a strange expression, and Howard realized muzzily that she was pulling away now, and studying the photo. "You serious?"

"As a heart attack," he assured her with a small hiccup. "This girl, she's everything to me—my sun, my moon, my stars and planets and meteors and microscoptic space matter and subatomic particles. You see," Howard nodded, "I love her. Really really_ love_ her. I'd crawl through hell for my Maria. I'd throw myself off a cliff if she told me to. I'd take a bullet for her in any body part including the face. She makes my whole world spin."

Howard felt the stripper take the photo from his fingers and wasn't surprised when she burst into tears. He fished in the other pocket for his handkerchief and handed it to her as she bawled, "Oh God that's the most romantic thing I've ever heard!"

"Never thought I'd find a woman like her," Howard nodded in simple honesty. "So even though you're a pretty baby, you can see that I'm serious about this."

"Yeah," Cathy sniffed, wiping her eyes on the handkerchief and staining it black. "Oh I'm so sorry about trying to put the moves on you . . ."

Howard patted her shoulder clumsily. "S'okay. You know,_ you're_ someone's moon and stars too, kid. There's somebody in this world waiting to fight tigers for you. Keep looking honey, he's out there for a sweet gal like you."

"I hope so," Cathy snuffled, "Your Maria is one lucky bitch."

Howard laughed and nodded as he took the photo back turning it to himself and smiling down at it. "And I'm one lucky, lucky bastard. So whatta you say? Let's go back and toast my baby."

"Yeah," she smiled, leading him back out of the coatroom. "I think I'd like that."

Howard ordered more champagne and insisted Cathy sit at the table with them. Over the rim of his glass, he noted Stane kept looking hungrily at the young stripper, seeing it, Howard scowled. When Obie left to use the men's room, Howard fished a pair of hundreds out of his wallet and leaned close to the girl. "Look, take the rest of the night off, kid. My buddy there's partial to blondes, but he's damned mean to 'em. Go home and put your feet up, okay?"

She smiled at him, and under all the makeup, Howard could see both the toughness and softness in the girl. Cathy nodded, tucking the bills into her bra. She bent to kiss his cheek as she got up, whispering, "Thanks for the tips—all of them. You and your Maria go have a good life, Mr. Stark. The two of you deserve each other, that's for sure. Night."

When Obie got back he looked around. Howard gave a shrug and pointed down to the stage, where a pair of overly-endowed strippers were gyrating to Dave Rose's classic. Obie grunted and settled back into his chair, grabbing the champagne bottle for himself. Howard gave a quiet sigh of relief, and rubbed his head. He'd pay fiercely for this overindulgence in the morning, that was damned sure, but for now things were going okay.

He wondered what Maria was doing.

By three AM the party was over, and Howard let Armando herd him into the car. It was blissfully dark and warm; Howard slumped bonelessly on the seat and tried not to let his dizziness overwhelm him. He'd just managed to regain some equilibrium when the car pulled away from the curb and a fresh wave of vertigo hit. Howard fought the urge to throw up by breathing slowly and closing his eyes.

It dawned on Howard that he was damned tired. Having fun took a lot more out of him these days, and it sure as hell wasn't as much fun as it used to be. He felt a surge of self-pity as he lay with his cheek pressed to the leather of the seat.

He felt old and not for the first time, Howard wondered if he was doing the right thing. Maria was so young, so vital and damned beautiful. She had her whole life ahead of her, and with her brilliance she was going to go far. Did he really want to drag her down? To trap her into a marriage that she'd end up regretting as he got older? He shuddered at the mental image of her having to push him around in a wheelchair while he drooled into his long white beard.

Stupid. He'd been selfish and stupid to ask her to marry him. She'd agreed simply because she didn't want to hurt his feelings, but Howard suddenly knew that Maria deserved a hell of a lot better than to be tied down to a worn-out worthless wreck like him. He screwed his eyes tight, fighting the quick flash of tears. Men didn't cry. Their hearts might break, but they didn't break down when the ugly truths of their lives became apparent.

Howard snuffled, letting the wetness run down his face as the car drove on. He knew what he had to do now. It was the right thing, but God _damn_ it hurt to think about it. He'd have to let Maria go. Set her free to live the life she was meant to have; to soar like the beautiful swan she was . . .

Howard couldn't remember if swans actually flew. They were birds, he reasoned groggily to himself, so they probably did. Sure there were birds out there that _didn't_ fly, but Maria would be able to. She was streamlined and definitely the aerodynamic type. Sleek and sweet and one beautiful little package oh_yeah_. The sudden thought of Maria in white feathers came to mind and he smiled at that. Then those feathers became a long feather boa, and all of a sudden the blasphemous image of Maria as a stripper made him swallow hard.

Oh damn. Now _that_ was an image that was impossible to shake. God. Maria in white lace, prancing just for him, batting those beautiful eyes of hers, waggling her slender hips . . . . He shifted on the seat, feeling a surge of something that definitely wasn't self-pity, not by a long shot. Howard groaned and rolled on the seat until he was face up, staring at the velour on the ceiling of the limo. He hated himself for lusting after Maria that way. She wasn't any sort of good-time girl, but at the same time he couldn't stop wanting her, couldn't stop indulging in a few dirty little daydreams—

He woke up as the car stopped and blinked. Armando held the door open and extended a hand to him. Howard gripped it and let himself be hauled up, relaxing now. They had an understanding, he and Armando. If he let Armando do the driving, he, Howard, would be a quiet and complacent drunk. He gave a little 'whoop' and opened his eyes, expecting Trevor to help Armando bring him inside.

Maria smiled up at him instead. She was wrapped in his old ratty MIT sweater, and the look on her face—warm and welcoming—made him sway from more than just the alcohol. "Maria?"

"Time for beddy-bye, Howard," she chuckled softly, and slipped an arm under his, bracing him. With Armando on the other side, the three of them managed the porch steps and the length of the living room. Howard collapsed on the sofa and Armando withdrew with a quiet 'Goodnight sir, madam.'

Howard looked blearily at Maria. "You're here."

"You called me," Maria told him, and began to untie his Florsheims. "About two and a half hours ago. Wanted to know why I loved, and I quote, 'a mean old fart who probably won't be able to get it up on his honeymoon' end quote."

Howard felt his face flush, and he ran a hand over it, mortified. "Shit. I _called_ you?"

"You did. For the record, you're a fairly coherent drunk, Mr. Stark," she told him, pulling off his shoes. "And while I think your question deserves an answer, I didn't want to say anything while you were at your bachelor party, sweetheart."

"I called you," he repeated, stunned by this thought. He couldn't remember calling her, although the image of a payphone came blurrily to mind. "Oh God, I'm sorry Maria. I'm so, so sorry."

"I'm not," she told him, and rose, pushing his shoulders so that he found himself stretched out on the sofa. "It was an amazingly sweet thing to do. Noisy and dumb as well, but on the whole, sweet."

She nudged at him until Howard scooted over, and lay down beside him on the sofa; it was a tight fit, but Maria draped herself on him and rested her head on his shoulder. "The answer of course is because I _love_ the mean old fart. I'm not worried about our wedding night, Howard. Just being with you automatically makes any night wonderful. I think it was the booze talking, and I think things are going to look a lot better in the morning. Now get some sleep."

Howard started to protest, but the warm weight of Maria against him on the upholstered sofa felt too damned nice. He closed his eyes, feeling the slow slide into sleep, and right before he did, he sent a little prayer skyward, grateful beyond words that someone up there truly had send him an angel, white feathers notwithstanding.


	12. Chapter 12

She couldn't hear the music. Maria knew dimly that it was playing; she knew there were people on either side of the aisles, that her father had his arm linked with hers as they stepped forward. Some part of her mind understood all that, but her focus had narrowed so much that all she could see was Howard, up ahead.

He stood facing her, and his gaze—tender, wide-eyed, intimate—was a lifeline. Maria kept her eyes on him as she walked forward, fighting an urge to run. A thousand sensations kept welling up inside her, and she couldn't let any of them out, not here and now with so many people watching. Maria gripped her bouquet a little more tightly, kept her pace steady and fought another urge to laugh.

She wanted to, badly. This surreal moment had caught her off-guard. Maria knew it was supposed to be one of the loveliest of her life, but somehow she felt like a spectator at her own wedding; disconnected and lost. Her father gave her arm a squeeze and she realized they'd reached the steps of the altar. Maria turned and suddenly she realized her father was crying.

That was real, and she smiled as she bent forward to receive his kiss. Dominic whispered softly, words of love and pride that sent a shiver through her. She beamed at him, and took a breath before turning to Howard. He held out a hand to her, and Maria took it, feeling the familiar calluses, the warm strength of his grip.

She felt grounded by his touch, and in that moment everything seemed right. Squeezing his fingers, Maria shot him a tiny smirk. "Hi," she whispered.

"Hello gorgeous," Howard murmured under his breath. "Wanna get married?"

"You bet," Maria replied, and together they turned to face Father Aloysius, who was pretending not to have heard the exchange despite his small smile.

The service was simple, and Maria found it easy to let the words flow over her as the ceremony went on. Howard didn't fidget or shove his hands into his pockets which was a minor miracle in itself she knew. When the time came to recite the vows Maria found her voice had become a squeaky whisper that made her husband-to-be grin. His own reponses were loud and strong, echoing through the church and eliciting a few murmured chuckles out in the pews.

Then the exchange of rings. Maria knew what to expect of course, but that made it no less breathtaking as Howard pushed the floral band onto her finger, his actions clumsy for the first time. Maria turned to Lucia, who slipped the other ring off her own thumb and handed it over. It gleamed in the light, a heavy, elegant band of white gold with a hammered texture, and Howard looked stunned at the sight of it.

Maria slipped it onto his finger, shooting him a flirty look. "Last chance," she whispered playfully.

"Nothing doing," He murmured back. His hand caught hers, curling around it as Howard tugged her forward for a kiss. The noisy throat-clearing of Father Aloysius halted that to the amusement of the attendees, but it was only a moment later when the priest ended his blessing and introduced them to the rest of the congregation as 'Mister and Missus Howard Stark!'

Neither of them heard him; they were too busy kissing.

-00oo00-

The ceremony had been the easy part, Maria thought ruefully. She, Randi and Lucia had finished up with the photographers and were waiting for the rest of the groom's photos to be done. Thankfully her parents had already gone downstairs to the Mayflower ball room to see to the reception. Randi was chattering on about the number of handsome Stark employees who'd been in the aisles while Lucia was fixing her lipstick.

Maria flexed her fingers. It felt odd to be wearing rings, but she figured she'd get used to it in time. She kicked her heels off and stretched, feeling much better. Her sister looked up and grinned. "I bet mama's gone through four handkerchiefs already."

"Probably," Maria agreed, "and she's probably getting in the way of the caterers as we speak. Still, it went off all right."

"All right? It was _beautiful_!" Randi protested. "You two are going to be a major spread in the society pages, and I bet you even make the evening news!"

"Definitely," Lucia agreed. "How are you holding up, M'ree? Doing all right?"

"I'm fine," Maria told her. "Just wish I could change." The dress was lovely, but Maria was conscious of how easily lace could snag and white could stain. She smoothed a hand over her hip and checked her watch.

"You can in about three hours," Lucia grinned. "Once they'd done all those traditional shots. Oh, and when you toss the bouquet, make sure you're aiming for Randi, all right?"

Before Maria could agree, a knock on the suite door made all three women look up. Lucia answered it, and outside, Howard stood looking only slightly harassed. "That photographer's an idiot. Tried to part my hair on the wrong side! I was seriously tempted to give him some candid shots of the unprintable kind. Hello Mrs. Stark; ready to make a grand entrance?"

"Serge IS an idiot but he does lovely work; don't do anything obscene to his cameras dear, and yes, Mr. Stark, just let me get my shoes on," Maria told him serenely. Howard stepped in, giving Lucia and Randi quick hugs before turning to his wife, who shot him a loving look. "Had anything to drink yet?"

"No, but I plan on it pretty quick," he replied, pulling her gently into his arms. "How long are we required to hang around this dog and pony show?"

"Long enough for you and I to cut the cake, toss the garter and bouquet and have a first dance I think," Maria sighed pulling back slightly to look up at him. "What time's our flight?"

"We're out of here at five twenty," Howard told her firmly. "Means we'll get into San Francisco at about ten our time, seven their time. We'll sleep for a day or two then get the flight to Hawaii."

"Sounds wonderful," Maria sighed, linking her arm in his and closing the suite door behind her. "Think we can manage to be gracious and socialize with people until then?"

"We can try," Howard agreed, "if you're the gracious one and I do the socializing. I've already fielded two queries about whether you're pregnant, and one prediction for our divorce. Nice to know there are so many high-minded people at this soiree, eh?"

"Which one was from Loni?" Maria growled.

Howard rolled his eyes. "Haven't you heard? She doesn't come near me anymore. I bare my teeth and suddenly Mrs. Stane finds some _other_ conversation to join. You'd think she was afraid of me or something."

"Good, let's keep it that way," Maria nodded.

Howard smirked. "You know I bet you could take her, in a straight fight. I mean she's taller and weighs more, but you've got that endearing tradition of vendetta and all."

"Yes," Maria agreed confidently, "I could. And before you get all hot and bothered by that, I'm not going to stage a catfight at our reception just to amuse you or Obie, got it?"

"Galen would have a fit," Howard murmured, "but oh well, fine. Shall we just go dazzle 'em instead?"

They smiled at each other.

-00oo00-

Armando was worth his weight in gold, Howard decided. The chauffeur chosen a discreet sedan and parked it in back alley behind the Mayflower an hour before departure time. It was fun sneaking through the kitchens with Maria, avoiding the crowds of well-wishers and reporters outside the front of the hotel, and Howard felt a sense of cocky joy in tucking his bride into the car with only a few pigeons and stray cats as witnesses.

Maria seemed to take it all in good humor herself, looking tired but happy in her green suit and scarf. The frost of December had iced over most of the roads, but Howard trusted Armando to get them to the airport in good time. He always had.

"Gahh, I'm completely small-talked out, dear," Maria murmured, snuggling up to him and closing her eyes. "Thank God we're only going through this _once_ in our lives."

"Gauntlet of true love," Howard replied, comforted by the weight of her head on his shoulder. "I can't get over how high Nathaniel jumped for that garter. Man should have been a track star."

"Makes it worse that Galen caught it," Maria snickered. "At least Randi got the bouquet."

"That's only because your sister was giving the death glare to everyone within two feet of your roommate," Howard pointed out. "The fix was in; anyone could see that."

"I plead the Fifth," she murmured, snuggling closer. "Strenuously."

"You would," Howard turned and smiled into the crown of her head. "Sleep; we've got a forty minute window of peace and quiet, Mrs. Stark so we've better make the best of it."

She dozed off and it seemed like only minutes later that Maria felt herself scooped up from the carseat. Startled, she clutched at Howard, who laughed at her reaction. "It's okay, we're here."

The lights of the airport were bright, but the place was practically empty. Armando and a skycap were unloading luggage from the back of the sedan, and Maria could see that only one desk seemed to have anyone on duty. "Here, okay. Put me down, Howard."

"Fine," he chuffed, and did. "We've got seats waiting on that 707 out there, and three weeks of coconuts and Coppertone in our immediate future."

"Mmmmm," Maria purred, and followed him through the chilly December night into Dulles. She blinked, aware of her fatigue, but amused to see Howard taking in the place with a slightly covetous eye. "It's not too busy, is it?"

"It'll pick up," He predicted. "Once they get connected to the highways and people get used to heading out this way. Jets need space, and this site's the right one for an international hub. This way . . ." he steered them towards the Pan American desk, where a perky young woman beamed at them.

"Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Stark! Here are your tickets, so if you'll just follow me to Gate Three . . ."

They did, stepping through the glass door leading to the tarmac. At the jet, Maria clambered up the metal ladder and through the hatch as Howard came up behind her. The interior was much warmer, and Maria gave a quick smile to the stewardess, who waved to the first class section.

"Right this way Ma'am. I'll be with you to take your drink orders shortly after take-off."

"I could probably do with a hot toddy," Maria murmured to Howard, who tossed his hat up into the luggage bin and dropped himself next to her.

"Need a blanket?" he asked, and pulled one out before she could answer, tucking it around her. Maria smiled.

"Thanks." She closed her eyes, intending to rest for just a moment or two and the soothing hum of the plane lulled her senses as she slipped back into sleep within minutes.

Howard listened the engines, mentally calculating their RPMs and wondering if he had time once they landed to take a look at them. He pushed this thought aside, filing it away as unimportant, and chose instead to think about Maria, and how she'd made something as momentous as getting married as easy and natural as engineering. Seeing her coming up the aisle had been a speechless moment, but one look in those big brown eyes of hers and nobody else was in the room.

And his ring—glancing at it, Howard gave a little shake of his head, admiring it in the dim lights of the cabin. It was something to be proud of that was for damned sure. He liked the texture and weight of it, liked the way it felt on his finger. Normally engineers were leery about rings, but Howard decided he wouldn't take this one off unless it was a matter of life or death. It was an overblown and romantic decision, he knew, but nobody had to know if he didn't say anything.

So now he was married. Off the market. Taken. Spoken for. Off-limits. Somehow those didn't really seem as negative as they sounded, not if they meant that he belonged to Maria. Howard knew that Wanda had sent the instructions to the St. Charles, and he hoped that the multiple reservations would keep the press from finding them. They were getting bolder, especially the tabloids, and Howard didn't want anything to spoil the trip.

He finished his whiskey, settled in next to Maria and closed his eyes, letting the thrum of the engines lull him to sleep.

-00oo00-

The suite had a gorgeous view of the bay—or would in the morning, Howard knew, but for the moment he was more interested in the immediate amenities. Maria stood next to him in the doorway, yawning; he swept her up and over the threshold, making her squeak and clutch him tightly. "Howard!"

"Traditional, right?" he teased. "I could get used to doing this, by the way. You're not heavy you know."

"That's not the point, Mr. Stark!" she laughed, letting him swing her around. "Right now I think we need to get to bed."

The minute she said this she blushed; Howard saw it bloom across her face and it thrilled him to know she was aware of the moment. He slowly set her down and pulled her in for a quick kiss.

"Talked me into it, Mrs. Stark. I know it's late, but . . ." he trailed off, looking at her face, trying to read her expression. If there was any hesitation Howard would have been willing to postpone the consummation, difficult as that might be. He wanted Maria, but he had enough patience to want the occasion to be perfect, too.

The look in her eyes was mischievous and tender; a look that send a flush of heat through his body to settle under his stomach. Maria slid her hands down his back to rest on his ass, and the squeeze she gave it was definitely enthusiastic.

"Not_ too_ late, I hope?" she murmured, rubbing up against him. "I slept on the flight so I'm bright-eyed and bushy tailed."

"I think I'll have to check that for myself," Howard told her, taking a moment to nibble along her neck. "In depth and thoroughly."

"Hmmm," Maria sighed. "Give me fifteen minutes to freshen up and I'll meet you in bed. Sound fair to you?"

"More than," Howard grinned. He let her go and Maria slipped into the bathroom, taking a small case with her, chuckling. Howard dug through his luggage for his shaving kit and plugged in his shaver to the outlet by the closet. He ran it over his cheeks and chin, working with the hand mirror from the kit, grateful that he'd done a closer job before the wedding so that this was more of a touch-up than a full shave.

After a moment's hesitation, he reached deep in the kit and pulled out a small round metal tin, tucking it into his pocket.

Howard took a moment to drop his cufflinks into the kit before toeing off his shoes and making his way over to the bed, humming and trying to keep the flutters in his stomach from growing too strong as he tucked the tin in the nightstand drawer. The queen-sized mattress looked promising, and he dropped himself on one side of it, undoing his tie, wondering absently if they should leave an order for room service in the morning when he heard the bathroom door open.

He twisted to look at Maria, and promptly forgot to breathe.

She leaned out of the doorway, looking back at him sweetly, her expression both shy and delighted. "You're making goo-goo eyes at me Howard."

"Can't help it," he replied hoarsely. "You're beautiful."

Howard wanted to say more, much more, but his mouth and brain were still slightly out of synch, and he wasn't sure anything would be coherent.

Maria was in white lace.

She slipped out of the bathroom and came over, looking demure as she modeled the filmy peignoir for him, turning gracefully. "Luce talked me into this. Randi wanted to order something out of a Frederick's catalog but I put the kibosh on that. I mean, maybe you might have liked something racier, but there's time enough for that and . . ." Maria trailed off, shivering. "I'm just a little nervous here, Howard."

He rose and took her into his arms, and the sweet warmth of her made him want to purr. "Me too, but it's okay. It's pretty, but it doesn't matter in the long run, because underneath everything it's you and me, right?"

"Well it's just _me_ in this thing, but I know what you mean," she assured him. Howard smirked and deliberately bent to kiss the side of her throat, moving a hand to flick the satin cord strap from her shoulder as he did so.

"Oh I dunno, I think pretty soon you won't be in it either," he whispered, and nuzzled his nose along her warm skin, feeling a surge of masculine pride as Maria gave a wriggle and gasp. She closed her eyes in pleasure, and Howard kissed his way to her ear, deliberately tickling it with his mustache, knowing it was one of the places that aroused her.

Maria slid her arms around him more tightly and pressed hard against his hips, her breathing growing louder. "You maaaay," she groaned, "be right. Let me help you get some clothes off."

"I like the sound of that," Howard agreed, and let her.

He watched as she plucked at his shirt buttons, her normally efficient fingers fumbling at the task. Taking pity, Howard undid several himself, and Maria tugged his shirt open, slightly dismayed at seeing his undershirt. "Another layer?"

"San Francisco's _cold_," he replied, and she snorted in amusement. As he pulled off the offending garment, Howard felt her hand stroke his fly, and his shaft, which was already turgid, swelled under her palm. "Whoooah."

"Isn't that _my_ line?" Maria chortled.

Howard had to laugh at that, even as her fingers undid his button and tugged down on his fly, leaving him in his boxers. "You'll be getting more than a line, never fear. Let's take this to the mattress, shall we?"

Without waiting for an answer, Howard tugged Maria down and rolled with her until they were side by side on the coverlet, and busied himself with the little ribbons that held the front of her gown closed. "Pretty as these are, they're in the way," he growled playfully.

"This is supposed to be enticing," Maria assured him, her eyes twinkling. "Like opening a gift."

"I have bad news for you," Howard replied. "I tend to rip wrappings, but tonight I think I'll be a little more considerate." As he spoke he managed the last bow and flicked the edges open and bent forward, looking at her.

So perfect. Her pert breasts and graceful collarbones gleamed in the light from the bedside lamp, and Howard throbbed in response, feeling foolish and happy and better than he had in years. This was Maria with him, sweet, smart, beautiful Maria. She slid an arm over his shoulder, pulling him closer, her slim hips wriggling. "I know they're a little on the small side . . ."

"Oh baby, they're perfect!" Howard assured her, sliding a hand up to cup the sweet roundness. It filled his palm completely, and he bent to nuzzle against the pebbling flesh there, gratified when Maria shivered. When he rubbed his nose around her erect nipple, she squeaked, and Howard chuckled even as he pulled her closer.

"Hey Mousie, you liked that, hmmm?" came his tease. In answer, Maria laughed herself, and reached to stroke his chest in return, finding one of _his_ nipples. The soft pinch made Howard shudder in return. "Okay, okay, yeah, I get it," he moaned.

"Kiss me," she whispered with hunger in her voice. Howard did, delighted when Maria pushed hard against him, forcing him to shift. He rolled onto his back, pulling her over himself. She made love to his mouth, teasing and licking and nipping while her hot breath brushed his face. Howard groaned, feeling wonderfully pinned by her warm weight and passion.

"Want you bad," he admitted thickly between kisses.

"I do too," came her breathy reply. "Can we please just . . . do it?"

"_Do_ it?" he snorted, trying not to laugh and not succeeding, "_do_ it?" Maria pushed up from him and chuckled a little herself, but she also wriggled as she did so, and the sweet rolling pressure turned Howard's amusement into a pleasured groan. Swiftly he cupped her ass, gripping it tightly. "Slow down there, Mrs. Stark!"

"Howard, I've been waiting for this since the day I _met_ you!" Maria growled back. "I'm not afraid and I'm not naïve. Please, just . . . make love to me already!"

"I am!" he assured her with a grin. "This is foreplay, commonly known as making out, warming up, stoking the fires . . ."

"Dry humping," Maria snorted. "Moving _on_ . . ." She pulled off her lingerie and tossed it aside; Howard watched her, his mouth suddenly dry at the sight of her gloriously lithe nudity, and a surge of desire hit so strongly he wasn't sure he could breathe. With care Howard rolled with her, pinning Maria to the mattress.

"Baby, this isn't how it goes," he croaked in a frustrated whisper. "I'm supposed to make _you_ feel very good first, so that when we _do_ it, as you say, that it's more comfortable for you, but you're driving me nuts here and I'm not sure how long I can hold out!"

"It's okay," she told him, eyes wide and bright. "I'm so ready it's not going to take much, and anyway I owe you, for that time in the car—" as she spoke Maria tugged on his boxers, sliding them off his hips, and her fingers stroking so sensually that Howard felt his eyes cross.

He kissed her hard, then nodded, speaking softly and quickly. "I don't keep score, but I think we're both about ready to die here, so just be patient a tiny bit more . . ."

As Howard spoke he shifted up to his knees, wrestling his way out of his shorts. The gratifying gasp Maria made when she got her first eyeful of him made him grin briefly, but he didn't pause to pose and merely leaned over her to coax her knees open. She blushed but willingly parted her slim thighs, and he gave a groan of joy at the sight of her dark silky mound. "Jesus, I don't deserve anything that gorgeous!"

"If you don't do me right_ now_, Howard Stark-" Maria insisted through a twisted smirk. He reached for the nightstand and fished out the tin, quickly sheathing himself as she watched. "Oh! Is that . . . ?"

"Yep. Playing it cautious here," he grunted and reached a hand down to stroke the inside of her thigh. Maria's breathing accelerated as his fingers fluttered against the soft petals of her cleft. Howard bent closer, dropping a series of concentrated kisses that left her wriggling, and when his finger slipped inside, she gave a cry of pleasure.

"Damn it," he groaned, caressing her again, drawing slick fingers to spread the wetness all along her cleft. "Maria, baby . . ."

"Yes," she muttered, dark eyes hazy with pleasure as she reached her arms to him. "We can go slower next time, but please Howard, I _want_ you . . ."

Stretching over her, he angled himself, and slowly thrust. Maria wrapped her arms and legs around him, her lips against the hard muscle of his shoulder, and in one glorious moment Howard felt himself breech her by inches, felt the slick heat of her body around his aching cock.

He paused, fighting hard against the urge to sink deeper into the frustrating pleasure, but sudden shock of teeth nipping HARD into his shoulder stunned him. Maria thrust her hips up, burying him in her in one shocking push, and from that point on the sweet madness of mutual lust washed through them both, urging them on.

Howard surged, rocking with her, dimly hearing the wooden creak of the headboard, the soft squeak of the bedsprings under Maria's soft gasps. Tight. Everything was tight, slick, hot, grindingly perfect, and every stroke stoked the rising heat between them. His heart pounded and the sting of Maria's nails raking his back had Howard gritting his teeth to hold back the heavy groans that wanted to escape his lips. Maria, sweet and wild, writhed under him, with him, both of them lost in the imperative of lust.

In a moment of pre-orgasmic clarity Howard watched her arch, her long pale throat corded and beautiful in the lamplight as she wailed his name, stretching each syllable out in her pleasure, her body clenching around him and fuck it was too much, too much to take. He felt himself crest, gushing deep within her, the thrill so sharp it almost hurt as every muscle quivered in joy and desire and fulfillment. Howard cried out, and blindly buried his face along the side of Maria's beautiful neck, wetting it with kisses and tears.

How long they lay together he didn't know and didn't care. Maria, his beautiful wonderful Maria—his wife- was damp and warm; her skin smelled like salted Shalimar. Howard kissed it, working his way towards her face, lifting his head to look at her. She turned, her eyes dark and wide, her smile tender. "Mmmmmmm," came her murmur, and it said more to him than a thousand words.

"Mmmmmmm," Howard replied, rolling to pull her into his arms, holding her close. "MmmMMMMMMMMMMM!"

She giggled.


End file.
